The Long Way Back
by LouiseKurylo
Summary: AU: Jane returns 2 years after killing Red John. He and Lisbon resume their relationship. Their world remains murky, tense, complicated, and dangerous. Different Fischer and Abbott. Jane and Lisbon are together, but the main focus is external events. Any M sections will be ID'd in the chapter. / I do not own The Mentalist and reap no economic benefits from this story.
1. Chapter 1 - To Austin, With Regrets

**The Long Way Back**

**Chapter 1: To Austin, With Regrets**

**Abbott**

Abbott was tired.

Tired and pissed.

The flight back took ten hours, starting with the spine-jarring, back-wrenching puddle-jumper taking him - them - from the island to Caracas. He was on his way home, a place he had been far too little in the one year, eleven months, and twelve days since the take down of the corrupt California Bureau of Investigation.

Dennis Abbott relaxed into the blessedly soft cushions of his FBI SUV, glad he'd driven to the airport. That let him to go directly home instead of horsing around with cabs or, worse, sharing a ride with the agents escorting the perp-would-be-FBI-consultant. Fischer left earlier. In the morning they would meet with Patrick Jane in the Austin FBI office. It was essential to be fresh.

_Patrick Jane. Last piece of a very complicated puzzle._ He snorted softly. _Started out a raid at the request of the California governor. Ended up a hunt for four‑thousand corrupt in law enforcement across the country._ He had done an exemplary job, reaped mountains of praise, gotten flattering interviews from news outlets. The only person he disappointed was himself. He had solved 3,999 pieces of the puzzle. The one piece yet to be put in place was at the center, its heart._ Tomorrow_, he promised himself,_ I deal with the last piece._

**Jane**

Ten hours and a world away from Margarita Island, Patrick Jane wearily stepped out of the FBI van. Three agents firmly escorted him to a nondescript building a mile from the Austin FBI headquarters. 'Hotel FBI' was what agents mockingly called the facility intended for short term detentions during investigations. Rarely, "persons of interest" were held as long as necessary. Jane jerked his arm from the agent's grip. _Three, really? I'm not Arnold Schwarzenegger. Heavy-handed cops._ The agent frowned disapproval but didn't renew his grasp. They reached a room down a short, featureless hall. Two agents stood outside the door while the third entered with Jane.

Jane turned and spread his hands in silent question.

"Strip to your waist."

"What?"

"Strip to your waist. To check for tattoos."

The heavy, cold blanket of suspicion and threat settled around Jane's shoulders, too familiar after a decade hunting Red John. The right side of his mouth pulled up in a crooked grin. "Let me guess. A three red dots tattoo."

No response.

Jane shed his jacket – itself an odd feeling as he hadn't worn one for two years – and then his island-made patterned shirt. The agent positioned Jane under the ceiling light. He used a point-and-shoot to photograph Jane's left shoulder from different angles, all close up. He turned toward the door–

"Wait," he said as Jane moved to don his shirt.

–and got an equipment case from another agent. He withdrew a lamp, set it on the small table and plugged it in.

"Sit here. Do not look directly at the light." He took more photos. Different wavelengths could reveal marks invisible to the naked eye. He finished and packed up the equipment.

"You meet with Supervising Agent Abbott at 9 tomorrow. Alert the guard If you have an urgent need." Jane stayed silent. After a moment he turned and left. The bolt slid shut. Loud. Final.

Jane slumped, tension draining from his shoulders as he relaxed for the first time that day. He looked around. The room had a bed, an easy chair and a small side table. It was utterly unadorned. _Cell, then_. A tiny bathroom was equipped with towels, soap and shampoo. With a sigh, Jane shed the rest of his clothes. A long hot shower settled him. He finished, then shrugged and donned the same clothes. A tray of food had been dropped off while he showered. _Uninspired, but edible._ He ate and knocked on the door to return the tray.

"Thank you." Jane's good manners were ingrained, especially for the ranks, people at the bottom. He'd been one of them much of his life and found a little respect went a long way.

He again shed his clothes. He washed his underwear, left it to dry on the shower rod, and turned in. The Spartan accommodations were no worse than his in Venezuela.

Sleep eluded him. _The FBI doesn't send four agents abroad to lure a murder suspect to the US. _He ignored the contract Abbott had presented. Jane took as a given that governments lie, believing only actions. Fortunately, actions suggested the FBI wanted more than nailing a serial killer's murderer, especially when all they had was dubious circumstantial evidence. _–FBI probably does want me to work for them. Someone does, not Abbott. His boss – bosses? Someone went to a lot of trouble to fetch me._ He chuckled at their bait. _Kim's attractive enough, but everything about her shouts 'cop.' Letting Otero's thugs beat me up didn't exactly win me over._ He shifted uncomfortably, groin still aching from yesterday's beating._ Will Abbott cave?_ He sighed and set it aside. _Tomorrow._ He refused to think about Lisbon. His demand to see her was a long-shot. Lisbon was why he returned, but he wouldn't lie to himself by thinking it would be easy.


	2. Chapter 2 - Top Demand

**Chapter 2: Top Demand**

**Abbott and Fischer **

Well before starting time Fischer knocked and entered, not waiting for the "come." Abbott looked up from paperwork on the apprehension of one Patrick Jane.

"Fischer." He slid the papers to the side. "Good flight?"

She shook her head. "No ten-hour flight is 'good.' Bet it was torture with your bad back."

Abbott grimaced. "All we can do now is make it pay off. –You got Jane to bite after he turned me down. How?" Abbott looked at her speculatively.

Abbott was her mentor. But he was still a man and she hated his not‑so‑subtle speculations. She answered in a clipped voice, "According to plan. Made contact, struck up a conversation. Over dinner I suggested different ways of looking at things. I saw him just before leaving and dropped a few additional thoughts."

Abbott raised his eyebrows appreciatively. "Succeeded. We're meeting in–" he looked at his watch, "two hours. Question is, why did he come back and how can we use that?"

Fischer shifted uncomfortably. "He still wears his wedding ring. He's not over it," she hurried to add, "though I think he's still sharp-"

"-He's sharp all right. Set us up to take down the local drug lord. Apparently for his own amusement."

Fischer shook her head and plunged on with her thought, "-but he took it off before dinner."

Abbott perked up. "So he can be ... swayed?"

She looked at him icily, lips pursed. "He recalled how much he liked the work. Misses the US, speaking English, being 'understood.' He's ... complicated. Didn't even mention money or position. Or prison." She set aside her annoyance. Abbott's insinuations stemmed from his opinion of Jane, not her.

"He was free there, returned for something else. Now, of course, freedom_ is_ a bargaining chip." Abbott opened a folder and slid a photocopy to her. "Look at this."

"'My Terms'?" she read. "Jane's?" After swiftly skimming them she looked up, surprised and dismayed. "You agreed to these?"

"_He_ thinks so. I look forward to correcting that error."

"Working with Teresa Lisbon is his first demand. Next, dropping charges and the parole provision. –The rest are trivial or garbage - yanking your chain."

Smugly, "People can't always have what they want, can they? He's a con man and murderer. He works for the FBI or rots in prison. Not exactly negotiating from strength."

She sat forward. "Dennis, I want this. You said he'd be on my team–"

"–Which may be a mistake. Kim, you think you can bottle that closed case lightening. What if he self-destructs and takes you with him?"

She purred, "But if I'm right, he'll make us both look good. I will do whatever it takes."

Abbott smiled thinly, "Don't let ambition trump your judgment. _My_ interest is figuring out just who Patrick Jane is. Two years into cleaning up Blake I still don't know how he fits. Meet me outside Conference 3 at five to."

**Cho**

"Lisbon." Cho's voice wasn't loud, but it carried as she left the hotel promptly at 8:30 a.m.

"Cho! Uh, – was I supposed to expect you?"

"No. Give you a lift." She followed as he walked to his SUV. _Lisbon's mellowing, Or she's distracted because of Jane._ They soon were driving toward the FBI building.

"The FBI provides taxi service now?"

"Official business." Unexpectedly Cho pulled off into a small park.

She frowned. "Cho?"

"Nice day." Cho took his cell phone out, held it up, then put it in the glove compartment. She looked hard at him, then tossed hers in. He gave a small nod. After a silent ten minute walk they found a park bench and sat down. There were few people around despite cool morning temperatures.

Lisbon opened. "Why the hell did I learn Jane was back from Abbott? You couldn't give me a heads up?!"

Looking out at the scenery, "No. I didn't know any sooner."

"You didn't? And what's with the cloak-and-dagger?"

He took a breath and released it slowly. "Abbott doesn't trust me. I need to ensure our privacy."

"What's going on?"

"Abbott recommended against my FBI application. After I finished training no SA's wanted to give me a shot. Blake fallout. Abbott offered me a job. I took it."

"Why?"

"'Either you'll be a hell of an agent. Or you'll be exposed as part of Blake. Either way, I win.' Direct quote."

"Geez, Cho. I had no idea."

Cho shook his head, annoyed they'd gotten sidetracked to his business. "I found out about Jane yesterday when they had him on a plane."

"He's okay?" She stopped breathing till Cho nodded.

"Came willingly. FBI wants him to work for them. Not Abbott, his bosses. Rumor has it you're first on Jane's list of demands."

"What does that even mean?"

Patiently, "FBI hires you to work with Jane. Or Jane won't work with them."

Head spinning, Lisbon tried to take in the implications. _Here one night and he's blowing through my life like a tornado._ Cho got up.

"We'll be late."

"Cho, what if I don't?"

"The FBI will charge him with murder if he doesn't work for them. Sorry I couldn't warn you sooner." He got up and they walked back to the SUV.

"I owe you."

Silence reigned for the rest of the ride.


	3. Chapter 3 - Negotiations

**Chapter 3: Negotiations**

**Verbatim dialog from the "My Blue Heaven" episode is marked with an asterisk (*).**

**Lisbon**

Cho escorted Lisbon to a conference room and left. She sat at the table in the empty room and tried to think despite a maelstrom of confusion. Her issues with Jane could wait. It was critical not to interfere with whatever plan he had in motion. _For sure, Abbott isn't on my side – or Jane's. Oh, God, Jane's back and now what?_ Once again she was in the familiar, loathed position of stumbling around in the dark following her wily more-than-friend.

**Jane**

The same three agents were back to escort Jane to the meeting. One glance told him two were just curious, stretching the assignment in hopes of garnering juicy details. Dusty memories informed him they were among the newbies Abbott brought for the CBI take down seemingly an eternity ago.

Jane exited the SUV and paused to look at the looming FBI building. _Hard, slick surfaces. Impersonal. Impervious. Physical embodiment of government power. The antithesis of the weathered, historic CBI building that was part of the city._ His lips quirked. _Or maybe I'm nervous._

Jane's first surprise met him inside.

"Jane."* Cho rose, taking in the man before him. _Healthy. Happy - no, happier. Tense, but hiding it. Beach bum chic combined with upper-crust conservative._

"Cho. Ha! You never cease to amaze me,"* Jane said, voice high and breaking slightly.

"I got him from here, guys."* The three agents left, disappointed not to see more of the famous – infamous – figure from the Blake case they had worked their entire 24-month careers.

"So you joined the FBI, huh?"* he asked. Cho was more controlled and reserved than ever, which was saying something.

"Yeah. Finished training at Quantico five months ago."*

"Wow. Look at you. Congratulations."* Jane's move to embrace awkwardly transformed into a pat on the arm. _Not comfortable with a hug. Not comfortable period. It's not me. What then?_ Jane's relief at encountering a friend as he bearded the lion's den morphed into fascination with the unknown Cho story.

"Thanks."*

"Yeah."*

"It's this way."*

"Okay."* Jane set aside further cold reading. Not knowing the lay of the land he wouldn't unwittingly undermine Cho's situation.

They mounted the imposing, graceless staircase. "Where are your socks?"*

Jane was unsettled at the utter insignificance. _Two years. Murder charges. Voluntary return. And _socks _are your question? "_Uh, I don't know."* Jane couldn't resist any longer. "Did they put a chip in your neck?"*

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?"*

"Ah, you just don't seem too happy to see me."*

"I am happy to see you."* Jane read that as true. "I just wish it was under different circumstances."* _Emphatically true._

"Why is that?"*

"I don't think you and the FBI are gonna get along very well. I don't think they really understand how you operate."*

_And there it is. Cho has doubts about the whole bureau, not just me. Feels he's in enemy territory. Interesting._ "Ah. They'll loosen up once they get to know me."*

"Mm‑hmm. Second door on the left."* As Cho walked away he couldn't suppress a tiny grin. Despite uncertainty about everything, Jane's brand of brilliance could only brighten the cheerless, murky bureau atmosphere. Abbott would discover that Jane and chaos were a package deal.

**Lisbon and Jane**

Jane opened the door. A grin split his face. The reason for his return sat before him, reality far surpassing his fevered island dreams. "Hey."*

Lisbon turned and rose, pleasure bubbling up. "Hello."* She chuckled, "Nice beard,"* even as she looked dubious.

"Thank you,"* he said. They moved toward each other, uncertain for a moment how to reconnect.

Bottom lip caught in her teeth, "Thank you for the letters,"* she said tenderly, eyes shining.

Joy drew them into a tight embrace, nothing held back. "Oh, I missed you,"* he said softly, fervently, deeply breathing in the scent of her hair.

"I missed you, too,"* she said, equally overwhelmed.

Drawing back a bit, "What's going on, huh? Why am I here?"*

He smiled as they moved to sit, "You'll see. It's gonna be great."*

"What?"*

"Trust me."* She blinked. A decade with Jane taught her to dread those words.

**Lisbon, Jane and Abbott**

Lisbon sat silently as Jane and Abbott warily circled, probing and feinting to test for weakness. Abbot laid out the possible charges: Homicide, obstruction of justice, aggravated assault, grand theft auto. It was a partial list. Her breath caught when he said, "You're looking at 20-to-life."* Then Abbott detailed his terms. All Jane would have to do was knuckle under for five years of servitude. She swallowed painfully. _Jane couldn't knuckle under for five _hours_ if his life depended on it. _Her alarm was checked only by her confidence in Jane. _Always gets what he wants. He __has to__ this time._

She took a deep breath and turned back to the negotiation. _Jane thinks Abbott agreed to the terms on that napkin. Free man. And I work with him?! –Damn his high-handedness! _

She broke in. "I have a job, okay? I'm not gonna drop everything just because you suddenly decided to come back!"*

"W‑we'll talk,"* Jane said hurriedly, returning full attention to Abbott. Jane resumed listing his demands until Abbott calmly interrupted.

"-I don't think you're hearing me, Jane. You are on US soil now. I am the Federal government, and I am telling you that _that_ is a napkin. This is the deal. Take it or leave it."*

Lisbon waited, not breathing.

"I'll leave it."* No room for discussion.

The door behind Abbott opened.

"Kim?"* Jane asked, surprised. Lisbon swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. _Jane knows her!_

"Agent Fischer,"* she corrected formally.

"Agent Fischer,"* Jane repeated mechanically, looking stunned.

Abbott sighed. "Mr. Jane will be going to a detention suite."*

"I'm sorry to hear that,"* Fischer said, unconcerned. "I'll make the arrangements."*

And the meeting was over. Jane blustered, all bravado. Lisbon's, "Who is she? And what is a detention suite?"* went unanswered.

"Don't worry, Lisbon. It's all under control,"* Jane said with a wink. Fischer stepped outside. A guard appeared, cuffed Jane and led him away.

Lisbon stared at Abbott. "What happens next?"

"That's up to Jane," Abbott replied smugly.

"Can I talk to him?"

"No." Abbott gathered his papers and left.

Lisbon sat staring at the empty table. _Two years. A five minute meeting and he's locked up. What – What the–_

"Lisbon."

She looked up. _Cho._

"He turned them down." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." Lisbon ground out, fighting for composure.

"What next?"

She picked up her bag and rose, suddenly exhausted even though it was only mid‑morning. "Fly home, I guess."

Cho took her carry-on bag to the SUV. He didn't have a case since Fischer had just returned. His boss gave him the personal time he requested, more than happy to get Lisbon out of Austin, out of the way of her plans.


	4. Chapter 4 - What Next?

**Chapter 4: What Next?**

**Lisbon and Cho**

Silence suited them en route to the airport. It was hours till her flight to Olympia, the airport serving Cannon Falls, and Cho suggested they have lunch. Even after two years, Lisbon badly missed her old team. Cho had been with her longest and his company at this moment was a gift. He again put his cell phone in the glove compartment. Lisbon buried hers in her carry-on.

They ordered. Cho leaned back in the booth, regarding her expressionlessly.

"Want to talk?"

Lisbon squelched the impulse to refuse. If ever she needed a sounding board, it was now. "I don't know what to think. Much less what to do."

"Fill me in?"

She nodded, took a sip of coffee, and began. "Abbott called at 4 yesterday. Said Jane would be in Austin and asked me to fly here."

"No details?"

"No. Today you left and Jane came in a few minutes later." Cho nodded, having delivered Jane. "We barely had time to say 'hi.'" She gritted her teeth. "I asked what was going on. So _of course_ he says, 'Trust me.'"

"And?"

"Abbott came in. Listed a shit-load of potential charges against Jane, including murder. Twenty‑to‑life." She looked up grimly. "The FBI won't pursue it if Jane works for Abbott for five years under parole status. No tricks, no escaping, no screwing around or Abbott throws him in prison."

Evenly, "Makes sense for Abbott. Never work for Jane. And?"

"Jane pulled out handwritten note on a napkin. Claimed Abbott already agreed to his terms."

"Which are?"

"I have to work with him. And Jane's a free man, guarantee they won't press charges and no parole status. –Dammit, Cho, does everyone think I'm a pawn? First Abbott summons me. Then Jane assumes I'll drop everything to work with him in Austin. Damned obnoxious, presumptuous men!"

Ignoring her venting, "Any other terms?"

"Minor stuff. –Oh. Abbott says he has a team set. My services aren't needed." She huffed in irritation.

"So Abbott wants Jane completely under his control. No interference."

Lisbon took another sip of coffee. "He's more than welcome to _that_ pleasure," she grumbled sourly.

"How can I help?"

"Help me think through what's going on."

"Start with Jane. What's he after?"

She said slowly, "Get back to the US without the law on his tail."

"Why?"

"Misses the US. Maybe wants to work with the FBI?"

"That make sense?"

Uncertainly, "Why take the risks if he didn't want it?"

"Since when does Jane love law enforcement?"

She said slowly, "Doesn't _need_ law enforcement now that Red John's dead. He liked solving crimes, though."

"That enough?"

She shook her head slowly. "N-o-o. He wanted his freedom and maybe this was the easiest way."

Cho just looked at her.

She sighed. "Doesn't hold water. _He'd_ see the FBI bureaucracy as irritating. He could come up with a dozen schemes."

Cho prodded, "What did Jane ask for?"

Eyes widening, "His freedom and ... working with me." She swallowed painfully. "He wants to get _me_ into the FBI?" she said wonderingly.

Cho nodded. "What I think."

She gulped a mouthful of coffee to mask a surge of emotion. "He's risking 20-to-life to get me a job?!" she speculated, appalled but flattered, too.

"Jane'd figure he could game the situation."

She sat back. "Sounds right. What about the others? What's in it for Abbott?"

Cho looked even more serious. "Grapevine says he's being pressured by the brass."

"Why would they care about Jane?"

"Lisbon, the SCU took down Red John. Exposed Blake. Had a hundred percent close rate for a decade. I got asked about us at Quantico."

"Assume that's true. What's it mean for Jane?"

"It's good. Abbott has to make it work. –Unless he figures Jane might be Blake."

Suddenly remembering the meeting, "What about Fischer?"

Cho frowned. "My boss? She was there?"

"Yeah. Jane seemed to know her."

"Thought she just went undercover to fetch Jane. But if she was at the negotiations–"

"–she has a stake in him too."

Cho took a deep breath. "Fischer just got promoted. Sounds like she wants him for her team."

Lisbon's expression hardened. "What's she like?"

"Competent. Hard-working. Ambitious –_ really_ ambitious. Father was CIA. Feels she has something to prove."

Lisbon took a deep breath. "Abbott has to take on Jane to look good to his bosses. Fischer wants Jane for her career and has an even bigger stake in making it work. –Maybe there is no problem." Her stomach churned at the thought of Jane stuck in Austin for five years, living life as a parolee. _And what is Fischer to him?_

Cho gazed at her levelly. "Jane turned them down. He isn't capable of toeing the line, not that long."

"Has he been charged?"

"Don't think so."

"How can they hold him more than a few days?"

"Not sure, but they'll do it. Abbott's hard-nosed as they come."

Suddenly recalling something else, "What's a detention suite?"

"Solitary confinement."

She huffed, unhappy. "Cripes, Cho. What the hell has Jane gotten himself into?"

"Think he has a plan?"

_"He_ thinks so."

"Why not let it play out for awhile?"

She closed her eyes, discouraged. "Don't have much choice, do I?"

"Lisbon, Jane is one of the most capable people I've met. Let's see what he does."

"You'll keep an eye out for him?"

Cho exhaled slowly, lips pressed in a thin line. "Much as I can. Don't have a lot of running room." Lisbon threw down a few bills and got up to leave. Cho stopped her.

"Boss – take this."

She eyed the burner cell phone Cho handed her. _Crap. He's seriously worried about being under surveillance. Why would the FBI screw with its own agents? _"I hate that you feel we need this, Kimball. But, thanks."

"My burner number's programmed in. Call after midnight if we need to talk."

They reached the airport shortly. Lisbon impulsively gave Cho a hug, surprising them both.

"No matter what, don't be a stranger, huh?" He nodded and was gone. Lisbon waited for her flight, thoughts and emotions in chaos.

**Lisbon, Cannon Falls, Washington**

Lisbon pulled into her driveway and parked after the two-hour drive from the airport. The day was cool with drizzle wrapping the land in soggy gray cotton as twilight yielded to night. The four hour flight had been a trial. She did everything possible to _stop thinking, stop feeling_. Talking with Cho had tempered her alarm and disappointment, and she held fast to that.

Lisbon closed the door, dropped her carry-on, and tossed her keys on the kitchen counter. _Home sweet home._ She pulled cheese and an apple out of the fridge and cut them up for a snack. She added a soda and set the tray down in the study. With a frown she returned to the kitchen. _Didn't check for messages all day._ She stiffened at the message from her station officer Henry, then tossed the phone aside with a derisive snort after reading the simple "Good nite, Hope Ur back 2morrow, Chief."

She lit the fireplace to drive out the dampness and settled on the couch. It was a favorite place. Many a night had been spent warmed by the fire, a glass of wine, and a letter from Jane. Her breath caught. _Jane! Not just a dream or hope, he's back in the US for good._ Goosebumps washed over her with a shiver at the memory of his hug. He'd smelled vaguely of ocean and sun, faintly of sweat, and overwhelmingly of Jane - her past, present and future all rolled into one. She closed her eyes, hugging herself, hands wiping away the goosebumps covering her arms. Her skin tingled at the remembered embrace – a memory _hours,_ not _years,_ old. She let herself bask in knowing the man who had been at her side for a decade had come back and come back at least partly for _her_. She dashed away tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes. She had lived an eternity under the threat of Red John, the likelihood Jane would die at his hand or spend life in prison. Jane was here. He was vibrantly alive. And he could wipe the legal slate clean for the asking. His current problems were minor by comparison.

Lisbon drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, able to think now instead of just feel, to get past the jumble of happiness, disappointment, frustration, optimism, concern, and curiosity. _Jane will come out on top. Maybe it'll be hard, but it's not impossible. Killing Red John. Exposing Blake. Keeping everyone alive. _That was_ impossible. And we did it anyhow._ She leaned forward to nibble on the food. The fire cast a warm yellow glow in keeping with her mood. Then she wrinkled her nose. _Nope, 'warm glow' isn't Patrick Jane._ She acknowledged the thrill of excitement, the feeling her life could get moving again after two years of suspended animation. The warm glow was a bubble in which she had survived on hope and letters. Today was the electric crackle of possibility, of change. Patrick Jane's arrival upended her life and she'd never felt more alive.

Her gaze slowly scanned this most favorite room. The team photo reminding her how much she'd lost. The box of letters that left her aching for more. The beauty of a room, a house she had made into home, that so bitterly contrasted with the rest of her life. She blinked. A house wasn't enough to sustain her for the next twenty years and there sure as hell wasn't anything – any_one_ \- in Cannon Falls to live for. Stopping DUI's, catching bike thieves, managing traffic?_ I was a homicide detective for chrissakes!_ She had led a team hand-picked from the best of thousands in California law enforcement. In Cannon Falls she led a few dozen willing to keep the peace in a sleepy backwater. _And dating? That's the biggest joke of all!_ Her tentative efforts only confirmed how pathetic the available men were compared to Patrick Jane. _Nice, decent, stolid men like the one I ran from twenty years ago._ Not one came close to the brilliant, mercurial, complex, superbly capable man she hungered for.

She stared at the team photo, at one man in that photo. _Dammit. I've wanted Jane every moment of every day since he killed Red John. He fulfilled his vow. He didn't die. He isn't a million miles away in some godforsaken country. I will do whatever it takes to see where we go from here, to have him if he'll have me._

She cleared the dishes and empty soda can, made sure the fire was out, closed the glass fireplace shield, and turned in.

Lying in bed, every nerve arced with electric desire as she remembered Jane's smile, his voice and scent, how his body felt against hers. For the first time in two years she wasn't torturing herself with what might have been. She was embracing what could be.


	5. Chapter 5 - Detention - The Start

**Chapter 5: Detention - The Start**

**Abbott and Fischer**

"The _geniuses_ in Washington wanted Jane repatriated so he could work cases. I think it's a mistake, you think he's worth the trouble. Convince me," Abbott challenged.

Fischer flipped open a notebook. "The Serious Crimes Unit closed every case assigned for ten years, including serial murderers Red John and businessman Tommy Volker. I analyzed the CBI data–"

Abbott chuckled, "-So that's where you spent that week off."

"–for Lisbon's team before and after Jane was hired. Even though her team was green–"

Abbott's eyes gleamed in wry amusement. This would be Fischer's first time as team leader. She didn't notice.

"–the new SCU was successful before Jane. Good close rate. High conviction stats. Cases that were plea bargained accepted significant prison sentences. After Jane came aboard, they closed _every_ case." She was a little breathless. "Convictions and plea deals improved. In fact, the CBI Director before Bertram–" she leafed through some pages to find the name, "-Minelli had to create a perk for _second_ best team of the month. The SCU earned top team after Jane started and kept it ten years straight."

"How well did Jane work in the CBI?"

Fischer licked her lips, "Um, he was challenging. Numerous complaints, a few lawsuits. Never so bad he was fired."

"I recall _Lisbon_ got suspended more than once and _was_ on the chopping block."

She blinked, surprised Abbott knew the details. "And then was reinstated by Bertram," she countered.

"_After_ Jane destroyed his new team and humiliated its manager, correct?" Abbott's hard gaze pinned Fischer in place.

She finally said, "Yes."

"And you think you can manage him." Without waiting for a reply, "He's a con man and murderer. And I still wonder why Bertram gave in. I'm not convinced Jane isn't involved with Blake."

Blanching, "Why would he be?"

Abbott shrugged. "Money? Power?"

"But Blake was run by McAllister – Red John – who murdered his wife and child."

Voice hard, "We don't know how Patrick Jane fits. For all I know, Jane attempted a palace coup and McAllister retaliated by killing his family."

Shaken, "Is – is there any evidence?"

Abbott relented a shade. "No. But until I'm sure, I want Jane where I can kwatch him."

Fischer tilted her head, "And Lisbon?"

Abbott frowned, "Under surveillance since McAllister's murder. No sign Blake contacted her. No one's fingered her as a member and she doesn't have the tattoo."

Hopefully, "Neither does Jane."

"All we know is that everyone with that tattoo is Blake. Whether some don't have it is unknown. And Jane wrote to Lisbon for two years while he was a fugitive." With a barbed smile, "Maybe you should find out how she kept him in line."

"If I may ask–" he nodded, "-why involve her? It was a long way for a five minute meeting. You knew you'd reject Jane's terms."

Brusquely, "I don't care about her convenience. I wanted to see them interact, see if anything suggested they were in Blake." His eyes flicked to his computer monitor. She realized the conference room was bugged when they met. "It also neutralized Jane's threat to refuse to work for me if she wasn't here."

"You're not considering hiring her?"

"Not if I don't have to." Abbott moved to wrap up the meeting. "I'm out of town on Blake for the next three weeks. Jane's your baby. After detention takes him down a peg or two see if he'll go for the deal."

"Yes, sir."

Amused, "Good luck."

**Fischer**

Kim Fischer efficiently designed the details of Jane's detention. Jane had to find out – quickly – that they held all the cards. _The sooner he realizes our deal is his best option, the better. Then he can start redeeming himself by solving crimes. Case work will be nirvana _after a few weeks of boredom.

**Cho**

Cho kept his eyes open but saw nothing that needed to be done or _could_ be done. He created excuses to stop by Hotel FBI and verified that Jane was incommunicado. He knew the guards and made a point of being cordial. In the hidebound FBI world, mere guards were beneath the notice of most FBI agents. He was sure he'd be remembered favorably.

**Lisbon**

The next day Lisbon returned to the reality of law-enforcement in Cannon Falls. Henry was his typical overly enthusiastic self when she returned after a whole day away. The work was necessary. Her initiatives had lowered teen driving fatalities, holiday DUI's, and car accidents involving pedestrians. Law-enforcement's professionalism and conviction rates were up. But all of it was hopelessly boring compared to her time with the CBI, seemingly a lifetime ago.

Lisbon repeatedly pinched herself. Jane's return wasn't a daydream. She just needed to keep her frustration at bay until Jane's scheme, whatever it was, could pan out. Meanwhile, she wrote him daily to keep from dozing during the afternoon lull.

**Jane**

Patrick Jane settled into his "suite." The eight-by-eleven foot room was no less comfortable than his island apartment. The bathroom was cleaner and the hot water unlimited. That was the start and end of advantages.

He quickly realized detention was to be an experience of unrelieved boredom. The food would sustain life, but was nothing to savor. He would wear the same clothes, except for weekly laundering. He would get the regulation one hour of outside exercise daily in a fenced ten foot square cage. The guards never responded to his polite "please" or "thank you," but Jane read their regret at being ordered not to interact. Jane asked a guard if he could get books and receive mail. Lisbon had been glad to see him and he was certain she would write. He thought Cho would stop by if he could. When books, letters and visitors failed to appear, he had his answer.

_So it will be a waiting game._

Jane figured he was better suited to waiting than ambitious, up-tight, goal-driven agents. He had the time. He also had a lifetime of running cons where impatience was the biggest reason for failure. Abbott, on the other hand, had bosses who believed Jane could be useful. Those bosses had spent money to fetch a suspected murderer _to work cases_. Fischer's ambitions were being frustrated daily. His biggest advantage was that _they_ had come to _him._ The more time passed, the greater their anxiety about looking foolish, about making their gamble pay off, about solving difficult cases. And he had an ace in the hole if that failed.

Meanwhile, Jane had the Bible, the complete works of Shakespeare, and dozens of fiction and non-fiction books in his memory palace. He also spent time thinking about the Blake Association, Red John disciples, and even Visualize. In Venezuela, Jane occasionally read about the Blake clean-up in English-language publications left by hotel guests. Contrary to awestruck, credulous reporting about the FBI's amazing success, Jane seriously doubted that _all _Blake members had been identified and neutralized. If he - and Lisbon - were working for Abbott, the Blake case would at minimum hover on the periphery of their world. He might as well be prepared.

Kim Fischer visited at the end of the first week. She asked him to accept the FBI's terms. He smiled and shook his head. She left in a huff when he then rolled over and turned his back on her.


	6. Chapter 6 - Detention - Taking Shape

**Chapter 6: Detention - Taking Shape**

**Abbott**

Abbott's hands were full, his mood, foul. Chicago law enforcement was rife with problems on its best day. The infiltration of the Blake Association into the ranks and possibly higher was a nightmare to distinguish from ample ordinary corruption. Progress was slow despite a number of arrests. The three week operation would easily drag on to four or more. Chicago proved the adage that a city's LE could never be better than its political leadership.

Fortunately, most of the Austin FBI could run on autopilot under the team leaders. Fischer's assignment was out of the ordinary, but that problem could wait. Abbott advised her to do her best in the few minutes he could spare. Meanwhile, his work on Blake was more than enough to deflect the Washington brass who were eager to move their pet project along.

Long away cases took a toll. Most of the newbies he had initiated with the CBI take down were still single, for which he was grateful. He, on the other hand, paid a domestic price. He already missed his wedding anniversary, a disappointment which Leah would accept with grace after many years as an FBI wife. But he was damned if he would miss his daughter's graduation. Regardless of cost or sleep.

**Lisbon**

Ten days after Jane's return, Lisbon's elation was slowly curdling into frustration, worry and, if she was honest, anger. She had written several times since the meeting in Austin. No letters came back so she assumed Jane must be receiving them. Still, her worry grew as the days ticked past. She received no replies. Her call to the Austin FBI office got her precisely nowhere. The receptionist forwarded her call to Kim Fischer, who blandly stated she could "neither confirm nor deny any information pertaining to Patrick Jane as he is a subject in an active FBI investigation." Contact with the relevant courts confirmed Jane had been neither officially arrested nor arraigned. That night she called Cho for the first time. Cho could only confirm that Jane remained in detention isolated from external contact. She spent the next two days stewing.

Lisbon's frustration boiled over. She slammed her fist down on her desk at the Cannon Falls PD. _Since when do I sit around wringing my hands? If I don't do something I'll go stark raving mad._

"Chief?" Henry's anxious face appeared after a quick knock. "Anything wrong?"

Lisbon mustered a calm visage. "Everything's fine. Something fell on my desk. –Oh, hold my calls for fifteen minutes, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

Lisbon placed her call. "Hey, Gabe... It's been a while. ... Say, I'm going to be in Sacramento tomorrow. Can we get together for lunch? ... That'd be great." She placed her second call and then informed Henry she would be taking a vacation day.

**Lisbon and Mancini**

Her flight to Sacramento was uneventful. The weather was warm and sunny. _Of course it's warm and sunny,_ Lisbon thought as she waited for her rental car. The weather only made an impression because it contrasted with cool, wet Washington. She drove to the Sacramento FBI building and parked in a nearby public garage. She signed in as a visitor and was cleared to go up to Mancini's office. His assistant knocked and ushered her in.

"Teresa! What a sight for sore eyes." Mancini rose and walked around his desk. He shook her hand and unexpectedly pulled her into a brief embrace.

Turning around in a circle. "Nice digs!" she said admiringly. "Doesn't look anything like it did when your – predecessor had it."

He laughed. "You can say her name." More seriously, "I changed everything. Don't want any memories. Shultz is in Federal prison along with a whole lot of Blake members. –Hey, let's head out, my treat."

"Gabe, you don't–"

"Yes, I do." A fondness showed in his eyes. "You travel, I host. And – I want to."

They settled into the booth. Though close to the old CBI, the restaurant was far enough so she didn't have to pass too many familiar, painful haunts. Blessedly, it was new since the CBI's demise. _No memories at all._ They ordered and handed their menus to the server.

"So, Teresa. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She smiled, "Maybe I'm just passing through, wanted lunch with my favorite FBI agent."

His smile turned wistful, "Could be. But it's not you. You always have a purpose."

She looked down and shrugged. "I do have a question, off the record. But why don't we catch up first. Pleasure before business."

"Now _that's_ a new attitude!" His eyes flicked to her left hand.

"How are you, Gabe? I assume you ... weathered it okay?"

He sighed. "The whole situation stank. Finding out the people around me were dirty made me sick. Abbott uncovered a bunch, here and in the other California offices."

"You're the director, now. You came out all right?"

"Yeah." He looked a little guilty. "Listen, Teresa, I always thought you got a raw deal. I mean, your team uncovered Blake and for Abbott–"

Softly, "-Gabe, it's okay. No one on my team died and life goes on. Couldn't expect the CBI to survive with so much corruption. I – I don't know why I didn't see it–"

It was his turn to interrupt. "–Your SCU was a cut above and apart." His laugh was bitter. "If anyone understands it's me. Remember? Dirty boss _and_ partner?"

She touched his arm. "What's important is the rot's cleaned up." Their food was served. As they started to eat, "I hear you finally tied the knot. She's one lucky woman."

He smiled, set his fork down and fished out his cell. "Yep. Finally found the one." His cell phone displayed a pretty 30-something woman holding an infant.

"Yours?!"

"Yeah. Dominick Gabriel Mancini. Two months old and the light of my life."

They talked, sharing LE news and gossip about joint acquaintances. Mancini passed on what he knew about the new California investigative agency. Madeline Hightower had just been hired to head it after a couple of false starts. They finally got to dessert.

Mancini pushed his plate back with a sigh. "Okay, Teresa, the suspense is killing me. What's up?"

She took a deep breath. "_Theoretically,_ how does the FBI hold someone indefinitely without getting the case dismissed for violating due process?"

He stiffened. "We're not talking terrorist or anything Homeland Security, right?"

"Right."

Mancini grimaced. "I don't_ officially_ know this, but I've heard rumors. The Bureau can skirt the edge of legality through a polite fiction. Assuming the 'person of interest' doesn't want to be charged, the FBI agrees not to charge so long as the suspect 'voluntarily' stays somewhere like a hotel room."

"_Theoretically_, how do I get around that, especially if there's no communication with the outside world?"

He looked at her hard. "Not sure. You'd probably have to catch the Bureau violating some other right." He shrugged. "Denial of basic rights. Torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. Judges give the Bureau leeway, but there are limits. Judges see through any 'voluntary' agreement and kick cases if we go too far."

She nodded, "Appreciate the insight."

"Who, Teresa?" She didn't answer. "It's Jane, isn't it?" After a moment, "Never liked him and killing McAllister was flat out murder." After a moment, "-But I'm not sorry McAllister's dead." Softly, "Good luck, Teresa."

She gave him a peck on the cheek, "Thanks, Gabe."

Lisbon drove to San Francisco and spent the night with Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt (who only used "Rigsby" socially). Though Cho had spoken with Rigsby, he hadn't even hinted Jane was back, confirming Lisbon's take on how suspicious Cho was of the Austin bureau. They were surprised, pleased, hopeful, concerned and a bunch of other adjectives at the news. They offered her any help she might need, though it seemed unlikely their PI world would intersect with government bureaus again. Rigsby was as surprised and concerned at Cho's suspicions as about Jane's situation. This was supposed to be Cho's big break, but the long shadow of Blake was trailing them all.

**Fischer**

Kim Fischer's frustrated was growing. Patrick Jane showed no sign of relenting after two weeks of detention. _How can he be so stupid? foolish? – no, __stubborn__ to think he'll prevail?_ She visited more often. Every time she came up with a new perspective, a new persuasive argument, she would try it out. Other than shaking his head with a smile, Jane didn't even deign to argue.

Jane's life remained deadly boring. Fischer grilled the guards to verify that her orders were followed to the letter. Jane had no outside contact. Mediocre would be a generous description of his food. His clothes were laundered once a week on Friday and returned Saturday morning. He didn't get replacement clothes since the humiliation and vulnerability furthered her efforts. (Jane used a sheet until his clothes were returned each time.) He received no books, movies, TV, magazines, newspapers or anything else to relieve the boredom. His daily hour of exercise meant an hour in an outdoor cage without any equipment. She wanted to drive home how she controlled every aspect of his existence, an existence which would remain monotonous and dull until he agreed to work for the FBI.

Fischer saw no progress and eventually swallowed her pride and called Abbott for guidance. He didn't have time to talk and her frustration ticked up another notch. A golden future tantalized her, _if only_ the infuriating bastard would take the deal. _Who refuses an offer to drop murder charges?!_

At wits' end, Fischer finally did what she always did and reached out to her father. Now retired from the CIA, he was an excellent resource for figuring out how to compel compliance, obedience. She didn't aim to break Patrick Jane, but she _needed_ him to comply. She knew Jane's life would be better If he could be moved by logic, by the opportunity to start a new life working for the FBI. His resistance was inexplicable.

On Monday, she got the news that Abbott's trip would be extended. On Tuesday, she saw an opportunity to finally bend Jane to her will. She stopped by the detention center just before dinner was served to the detainees. She left feeling a little relief, a little less pressure now that she finally took action.

**Jane**

Jane continued to bide his time, waiting till frustration and pressure from above would compel the agents to meet his terms. Fischer regularly appeared, but he refused to deal with her. She didn't have the authority to give him what he wanted. And by now he disliked her personally. She hadn't lifted a finger when Ortero's thugs beat him. She appeared totally comfortable with his indefinite solitary confinement which she was apparently directing. Regardless of physical attractiveness, Jane's brief meeting with Lisbon reminded him anew of the compassion so glaringly missing in Fischer. Abbott's absence surprised him, till Jane realized Abbott had to be away on a case. Fischer certainly showed no sign of being guided by Abbott's wiliness and subtlety.

Jane kept busy. Despite natural disinclination, Jane systematically started to exercise. If his plans failed and he had to escape at some point, he needed to be in decent physical shape. A means of communication was the most important lack, but he was making progress. The guards rigidly adhered to their orders not to communicate, and he suspected his "suite" was bugged. But he whispered suggestions that one tap would mean "no," and two, "yes." He couldn't ask for much, but their willingness to go along told him he'd gained their cooperation. Once or twice he even heard Cho talking in the hall. Cho was louder than necessary for the guards to hear. It was enough to know Cho was keeping tabs on the situation, that he wasn't in this alone.

On Wednesday, he woke up groggy, with a headache and no memory after Monday night.

_Shit! I'm in trouble._


	7. Chapter 7 - Detention - Heating Up

**Chapter 7 - Detention - Heating Up**

**Jane**

_Shit! I'm in trouble._

Jane had been drugged before and he had no doubts. He could wait out the bureaucrats, out-think them. But he was vulnerable to this threat. Head throbbing, he gradually calmed as his mind cleared and he could think. _They want me to solve cases. Can't mess me up too bad._ He sighed, slightly relieved._ Okay. Not life threatening, not permanent._ His eyebrows furrowed. _They want control. _He started to shake his head then winced and stilled. _Who? Abbott? Too smart, wouldn't risk his career. Damn. Fischer then. Silly neophyte who doesn't know how to play the game. _He bit back the urge to swear aloud. _More dangerous because she's in over her head. Where she's getting the drugs, does she even know what she's doing?_ Jaw tight with anger he staggered to the bathroom and showered to try to clear his head. A half hour later, he was still off balance and staggered the two steps to the breakfast tray. The guard looked hard at him, but said nothing.

Jane stared at the cooling food. _To eat or not to eat, that is the question._ His lips quirked at his absurd use of the famous line, except being involuntarily drugged wasn't so trivial. The food was the most likely method. He decided food served just after he'd been drugged was the _least_ likely to be tampered with and ate the unappealing fare. From then on he drank only tap water. Plumbing changes would be too visible so water was safe. He also sharply increased his exercising, knowing it would help metabolize whatever the hell he had ingested. Too bad he still had to eat.

The situation went downhill from there. Jane exercised diligently and ate cautiously. One guard who radiated calm and religious conviction occasionally tapped once on the door before delivering a tray, warning Jane when it might have been drugged. Jane avoided some drugging, but didn't succeed all the time. He completely ignored Fischer and her harangues on signing the FBI's agreement. He enjoyed her growing frustration and outrage even knowing this was a losing hand. Unless he could change the game, the most he could do was slow the inevitable.

**Fischer**

For the second week, Fischer was often around before food trays were delivered to the prisoners - _detainees_. Under guise of oversight, Fischer added a colorless, odorless, tasteless liquid to Jane's food. Jane would be unusually suggestible while under the influence of the drug. When a sufficient blood level of the drug was reached and maintained, most resistance would disappear. The protocol was simple: Repeat a suggestion until he complied.

She counted on this to gain the advantage, to create a different mind set. Unfortunately, she could hardly order tests to measure blood drug levels. And Jane had figured it out since he was skipping meals. Nevertheless, she was succeeding more often than not. Once he signed the documents he would be legally bound.

Fischer returned Friday after dinner was over and trays were collected. She was pleased the food was gone from Jane's tray. The weekend change in guards reduced the chance anything would be noticed.

She flashed her badge and motioned the guard to open the door. Fischer stepped into the room and waited till the door closed and locked behind her. Jane was lying on the bed covered to his chin, seemingly asleep. _No reaction. Good._ She could proceed with the script without pointless arguments to cover her presence there. She flipped off the overhead light switch, leaving only a dim table lamp on. The only stimulus she wanted him to perceive was her voice. She ignored the door's small safety window because it didn't admit much light. If anyone looked in, all they would see was a conversation with her detainee.

She sat on the edge of the bed in the now-dim room.

"Jane. _Jane!"_ No response. He was a little too out of it. She nervously reviewed her plan as she waited. _Jane capitulates and signs the agreement. There's no proof of anything and who would believe him anyhow? All over before Abbott is back. Jane will come around once he's legally bound or he faces prison._ Five minutes later she got a mumbled reply when she said his name. He was conscious enough to begin.

"Patrick Jane, sign the FBI's agreement. You will be safe and happy." She repeated the script numerous times. Afterward, she ordered him to repeat it to her. This would be a sign the message was embedded. No response. She leaned over, turned his head toward her and repeated the order, voice intense. He muttered some words from the script, though they were jumbled. Pleased, she straightened, her hand relaxing and trailing from his cheek.

She stiffened at the feel of the bare skin of his chest. She puffed out a short breath. _Of course. Clothes are being washed._ She started to draw back then paused. Her eyes closed. _How _did_ Lisbon control him?_ She looked down, seeing past the infuriating prisoner to the handsome man on the beach. She licked her lips, and her hand ghosted over his chest, drawing the sheet further down. _Could I do that - long term?_ Her hand unconsciously drifted over his abdomen. _Would it be right?_ She swallowed._ Would it be wrong? He helped put away hundreds. Would that be so wrong?_ Her eyes closed. She abruptly rose and pounded on the door.

"Guard!" He let her out and stared as she hurried away.

**Cho**

Cho manufactured yet another excuse to be at Hotel FBI. He checked on Fischer's whereabouts to avoid any chance of them meeting. Cho wondered what was going on. Abbott remained in Chicago. Fischer was more withdrawn daily. And the game with Jane was dragging on too long. He knew the ugly effects of solitary confinement and a month was crossing the line into abuse. _Hell, the FBI must have regs limiting its duration. Why the hell are safeguards being ignored?_

Cho walked down the hall and nodded courteously to the guard. On his way back the guard dropped his clipboard, scattering the papers. Cho bent to help gather them even before the guard motioned him to.

In a whisper, "You a friend of his?" The guard motioned to Jane's door with his head.

Cho nodded, taking his time to gather the papers.

"He's being drugged."

"What?!" Cho managed to hold it down.

"I was in the Army during Abu Ghraib. We're better than this."

Slowly sliding the last pages toward them, "Will you help get a blood sample?"

The guard bobbed, which to surveillance cameras wouldn't look like anything. "Yeah," he breathed. "Food samples, too. I'm George Freedman."

"Cho."

They simultaneously straightened. "Thanks, sir," the guard said at normal volume.

"No problem." Cho strode off, mind grappling with the unwelcome news.

**Lisbon**

It was Saturday morning. Lisbon had been up since Cho's call. She nursed her third coffee while she thought through what to do. _Since when does the FBI abuse US citizens like this? Dammit, Abbott's a cold bastard but I thought he was straight arrow. _Finally deciding on her next step, she called and was on an early flight to Sacramento.

Lisbon pulled up to the large, graceful house surrounded by a wrought iron fence. _Bet that's not the only security_, she thought. She pushed the intercom button and the gates opened after she identified herself.

The maid carried their coffee and tea on a tray which she set down in front of the two women.

"Teresa, it's a pleasure. You're looking good."

"As are you, Madeline," she replied. _She does, though a little tired. Must be a mountain of work getting a new agency off the ground._

"To what do I owe this sudden visit?" Hightower saw Lisbon pick up her faint emphasis on "sudden." _Job? Reference?_

"I need your advice and help."

"About?"

_Political and cagey as always. _"Are you sure your house is secure – not bugged?"

Hightower straightened in surprise. "Yes. It's scanned weekly. Speak."

"Jane voluntarily returned to the US. He's in FBI custody in Austin."

"Under Abbott," Hightower surmised. "And?"

"The FBI will drop all charges if Jane works for the FBI for five years."

"Sounds like an opportunity, not a problem," Hightower commented wryly.

Lisbon plowed on. "That would be fine, but Jane won't live on a leash under parolee status. And he insists on working with me."

Cautiously, "What kind of help?"

"Madeline, the FBI is playing dirty. Jane's been in solitary confinement over a month. I've just learned he's also being drugged."

Hightower sipped her tea, buying time before reacting. "Has he been charged, arraigned? Where is he that they get away with this?"

Lisbon took a deep breath. "The FBI skirts the law by not filing charges if a suspect 'voluntarily' remains confined in a–"

Hightower nodded and interrupted, "–I've heard. Where?"

"An FBI detention center in Austin."

"What do you need from me?"

"How do I get access? What can I do to protect him?"

Hightower leaned back. "Teresa, I'm not FBI. I have no pull there."

"You owe Jane. He got Red John and gave you your life back. I'm calling in the chits."

Hightower set her teacup down. Dryly, "You've changed." _You used to be scared of me._

As dryly, "I have. Now what do I do?"

Hightower poured more tea and thought for several minutes. "Access. You need a court order - or a credible threat of one. But that requires proof of abuse." She looked at Lisbon, one eyebrow quirked.

"Working on it. I should be able to get blood and food samples to prove the drugging."

"If you can get that, Abbott will relent on threat of taking it to court. An Austin judge would handle it, likely _in camera_. The FBI gets a lot of leeway, but drugging and prolonged incommunicado incarceration are beyond the pale."

"What if I don't want to take it to court? The charges Jane faces could get him 20‑to‑life."

"You strong arm Abbott. Frankly, I can't believe he's doing something that stupid. This would derail his career if it came to light."

"I also want Jane examined and treated by a doctor I choose."

"Wise. I'm not sure you have standing."

"I still have his medical power of attorney from when I was his boss."

Her eyebrows climbed. "Something more to negotiate with Abbott. If it ends up in court, having medical power gives you standing to speak for Jane."

"Do you know a top attorney in Austin capable of fighting this? Someone who could defend Jane if criminal charges are filed?"

"Not Austin, but Dallas. –Maria, get my cell phone and paper and pencil," she called. She looked up the phone number and copied it for Lisbon. "Give him my regards. He's very good."

Lisbon started to rise, but was stopped by Hightower's hand.

"Sit. Tell me how you've been. And did you see Jane? How is he?"

Lisbon left an hour later, considerably calmer than she had arrived.

**Cho**

Cho needed to find a way of getting a blood sample and food sample. He'd need a syringe. He'd need to wait till Jane's meal had been drugged.

He spent time after work days talking to agents from other teams. Curiosity about the Red John case and exposing Blake gave him an easy way to start conversations. He learned Abbott wasn't particularly liked, but he was respected. Everyone had the same opinion: Intelligent, street‑smart, by-the-book, and relentless.

Cho cadged a clean syringe from a diabetic friend. And it wasn't long until the guard placed a white sheet of paper in a window, their signal to let Cho know when Jane's meal had been drugged.

**Fischer**

_I'm close, so close,_ she thought as she pretended to check Jane's food only to add the drug. Jane's resistance was noticeably weakening.

After the meal was done and the trays collected, she returned and entered Jane's detention room. He was out of it as expected. She followed her routine. Ceiling light off. Wait till he could respond to his name. This time she hung her scarf in front of the door's small window.

She patiently repeated the script. When she demanded that he say it, he almost had it. She smiled, relieved it was working.

Fischer felt a frisson of fear? excitement? des– _no, just nerves_ – at what she was going to try. _If he feels good, likes me, maybe he'll cooperate._ It had been years since he had the company of a compatible woman, someone from the same culture. _'Being understood is an underrated pleasure,' isn't that what he said?_ She tentatively reached out and undid the first few buttons of his island shirt. _Shirt's ridiculous, he's not._ She reached inside and stroked his chest with a feather touch. Jane stirred. She watched closely, but saw no discomfort, no resistance. Emboldened, she unfastened the rest of the buttons. Her touch was stronger, less tentative. He sighed, humming a little, still incoherent. Fischer licked her lips,, breathing through her mouth. She wouldn't do much, just a little, just to see if he was receptive. She could tell he was comforted. She brushed his too-long hair from his face. Whispering, she said, "I can make you happy, Patrick. No murder charges. Just solve cases like you did before. Could be good." She stroked his face.

He sighed, "Lisbon" and she froze. She shook her head, grabbed her scarf, and called the guard to let her out.

**Jane**

Jane woke fuzzy headed with a splitting headache. He glanced out the door's window and saw his favorite guard George was on duty. Jane had guessed wrong again. He was having a harder time thinking, even after the major effects wore off. _Jesus, I've gotta get out of here,_ he thought, making his way to the sink. He bit his lip. _Uh, been drugged again. S'posed to do something. _He stood a moment till he remembered. He carefully lifted the toilet tank cover and pulled out a small zip-locked plastic bag that had been trapped under the lid. Tank water was clean of course and the bag unlikely to be discovered. Since he had nothing but his clothes, the periodic searches never turned anything up. The searches had gotten sloppy.

He long ago determined the bathroom wasn't monitored, unlike the main room was. Fischer was managing his incarceration and must receive the surveillance AV. Jane tore a narrow strip from the thin bath towel and tied it around his upper arm. Then he opened the alcohol packet and swabbed the vein in the crook of his left elbow. He uncapped the needle, waited till his hand stopped shaking, pressed the plunger to expel the air, and drew a full syringe of blood, overcoming his dislike of needles. This would prove the drugging. Days ago he'd heard Cho's voice talking about "happy to help" just before he found the syringe hidden on his meal tray. Cho must have a plan because no other explanation fit. He capped the needle, sealed the syringe in the bag and hid it in the toilet tank. He would put it on his tray after the next meal, confident George would retrieve it.

Jane stood there. _Something's wrong, something important. _Think_ Paddy!_ He glanced up and caught sight of himself in the modest bathroom mirror, one made of polished metal that couldn't be broken. _My shirt's unbuttoned._ He frowned thinking hard. _No, I've been busy with the blood sample. And – yesterday? Why would I leave it unbuttoned?_ He loathed the lack of privacy and always wore all the clothes he had except for the suit jacket.

He breathed faster as he became convinced of his suspicion. He shrugged the shirt off. There were no marks. His pants seemed undisturbed. _Thank god!_ He stripped, turned the shower on and scrubbed his skin raw. _That twisted bitch. I'll rot in prison before I work with her. What the hell is she thinking?! _

_Time to change the game._ From that moment he ingested nothing but tap water. Something had to give.


	8. Chapter 8 - Detention - Breaking Free

**Chapter 8: Detention - Breaking Free**

**Abbott**

"Abbott ... What is it, Lira? ... Refer him to Legal. ... He does, huh? Forget Legal. I'm calling his bluff. Have the clinic arrange a full tox screen. Chain of custody protocol. I want a preliminary report by the time I get in tomorrow. –And tell Fischer Lisbon's interfering with Jane. ... Oh, and I need that Blake paperwork faxed to me. ... One o'clock is fine. Thanks, Lira."

On Friday Abbott hefted his carry-on and draped the garment bag over his shoulder. It was mid-afternoon and his flight from Chicago had gotten in early. Leah had organized a fancy dinner after graduation on Saturday. He wanted time to shift gears to _enjoy_ the occasion – not just shoehorn it into his "to do" list. His cell vibrated and he stepped aside from the stream of passengers to take the call.

"Just landed. ... Lira, I'm here for my daughter's graduation, not meetings and paperwork. ... Did that tox report come in? ... It what?! Read the summary. ... Let them wait in the lobby. ... Have Fischer meet me in half an hour." He managed not to swear aloud as he swiftly made his way out.

**Lisbon, Moore and Abbott**

Lisbon murmured to the attorney, "This will work?"

Quietly, "Yes. The report is proof of drugging. Smart to use the lab the FBI normally uses. You realize the full report–"

"–can take weeks. I was a homicide detective. Most important thing is getting Jane released without Abbott filing charges."

"We should get that. Jane's best bet is–" Moore suddenly stood to his imposing 6'2" height. After an instant, Lisbon also rose.

"Mr. Moore, Chief Lisbon? Please follow me."

Abbott sat at his pristine desk as Lisbon and Moore were ushered in. Lira closed the door as she left. Abbott motioned them to be seated. He didn't offer to shake hands.

"Mr. Moore, you asked to meet?" He leaned back, expression neutral.

"Agent Abbott, I represent Chief Lisbon who is acting on behalf of Patrick Jane. Mr. Jane has been illegally detained in solitary confinement for over a month. And, he has been involuntarily drugged. This meeting is a courtesy. You can release Mr. Jane now - immediately - or I will get a court order."

"Mr. Moore, I do not see that Ms. Lis–"

"-_Chief_ Lisbon."

Abbott paused. "–_Chief _Lisbon has legal standing to intercede in Mr. Jane's affairs. He was a fugitive from justice and person of interest in a murder case. This is a _government_ matter."

"So Mr. Jane has been read his rights and is represented by an attorney?" Moore's half smile was cold. Moore continued when Abbott remained silent. "Thought not. Chief Lisbon has medical power of attorney. Prolonged solitary confinement and involuntary drugging are serious medical concerns. The FBI is violating due process and his civil rights by not charging him. _Government_ wrong-doing is the greatest affront to US law, Agent Abbott."

After a minute of silence, "What do you want?"

"The immediate release of Mr. Jane."

"Mr. Jane was a fugitive from justice and is a suspect in a serious criminal matter."

Moore straightened. "Release him now or we'll get a court order." He pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. "We have proof of drugging. And Chief Lisbon can attest to the FBI's refusal to allow any contact with Mr. Jane for over a month."

"As a fugitive from justice–"

"–Who voluntarily returned. Enough Blake members have been arrested that he might survive the judicial process."

"-Mr. Jane is negotiating with the FBI. If we do not _voluntarily_ reach an agreement, the FBI _will_ charge him with murder and other serious crimes."

"Agent Abbott, do you really want to add coercion to the FBI's illegal acts? Mr. Jane must be released immediately so he can secure legal representation. And he must be examined by a physician of our choice. Today."

Abbott took a moment to review the toxicology report Moore handed him. He noted the issuing laboratory.

"I will release Mr. Jane if he agrees to stay within Austin city limits guarded by one of my agents."

"What agent? Agent Fischer is not acceptable."

"Agent Cho."

Moore glanced at Lisbon who nodded. Moore allowed himself a slight smile. "That sounds reasonable. We'd like to see Mr. Jane now, with our physician."

Abbott got up. "Follow me. Our detention center is about a mile from here." Abbott had Lira tell Cho to meet them.

A few minutes later they arrived at the detention center and Abbott led them to Jane's "suite." He flashed his badge.

"Open up." The guard looked startled, then started to speak. At Abbott's icy glare he closed his mouth and unlocked the door.

Abbott stepped in first, followed by Moore and Lisbon. Jane lay on the bed covered to his chin with blanket and sheet.

"Jane."

Jane turned his head and, catching sight of Lisbon, smiled faintly.

"Yes?" he asked without moving.

"We need to talk." Irritated by the situation and Jane's blatant disrespect, Abbott added with exaggerated solicitousness, "Would you mind rising so we can discuss this civilly?"

Jane's smile widened, predatory and cold. "As you wish." He slid back and sat against the wall, bedding falling to his waist. Abbott's face froze. Lisbon's eyes widened. Moore looked at her in confusion.

Pissed, "We'll wait outside while you get dressed."

Acidly, "You'll be waiting awhile, _Dennis. _My clothes won't be returned from the laundry till tomorrow."

Abbott's eyes closed and he stood stock still. He turned and shepherded the other two out of the room.

"Guard, get this man some clothes." The guard called the front desk. A few minutes later an orange jumpsuit, underwear, and soft slip-on shoes were delivered. The guard handed the clothes to Jane. Jane wrapped the blanket around himself, took the clothes to the bathroom and dressed. By now, Cho had arrived.

"Release him," Abbott said to the guard and signed the log sheet. "We'll continue this discussion in a meeting room. Agent Cho, you are responsible for guarding Mr. Jane starting now. He is confined to Austin city limits." Abbott turned to walk away.

"A moment, Agent," Moore said. "I have a board certified internist waiting in my vehicle. Before Mr. Jane leaves these premises, I want two sets of samples taken for a toxicology screen. I'm sure you appreciate the value of reliable information for further discussions." He turned to face Jane. "If you have no objections, Mr. Jane?"

Jane glanced at Lisbon who nodded encouragingly. "Fine." Lisbon got the physician and a duffel bag with clothes for Jane. Dr. Kendall showed Abbott a syringe, scissors, and two sets of empty vials for blood, urine, and hair. He and Jane were shown to a men's room. Kendall secured the samples and Jane changed into regular clothing.

With Abbott looking on, the two sets of evidence bags were separately sealed in boxes addressed to the toxicology lab used by the Austin FBI. In one box, the results were directed to Moore's office; the other, to Abbott. Legal and workplace screenings were the bread and butter of the lab. Its protocols ensured that a defensible chain of evidence would be maintained. Jane got just his shoes and personal effects before they left, happy to abandon the clothing he had been wearing since arriving from South America. Kendall left by taxi. Everyone else returned to the FBI headquarters where both sample boxes were added to others ready to be picked up by the lab later on.

Abbott, Jane, Lisbon and Moore entered the conference room. Jane leaned over to Moore and told him he'd take it from here. Moore whispered urgently in Lisbon's ear. She whispered a brief reply, then also whispered something to Jane.

Jane fished out the napkin that listed his terms and placed it on the table in front of him. Moore raised his eyebrows, asking permission. Jane nodded and Moore and Lisbon skimmed the napkin while Abbott settled himself with his file.

"Mr. Jane, the FBI is offering to forgo all charges in return for consulting with the FBI for five years. You will have parolee status under my direction. Given recent ... events, you will work on a team that does not include Agent Fischer."

Jane leaned back and smiled thinly. "Those _were_ your terms. Things have changed." He leaned forward. "Solitary confinement for 43 days without being informed of my rights or having access to counsel - or anyone else! Drugging. Forced nudity with the excuse of laundering. And," he swallowed, "other abuses. This could end your career."

"Your suggestion?"

"My terms," he motioned to the napkin. "With adjustments. You offer Lisbon a position at a level equivalent to team leader, with all the rights and protections of a regular agent - including opportunities for advancement." This time Lisbon didn't object. "She and I will work with the FBI for five years or a shorter period at your discretion. You will offer Agent Cho the opportunity to work with us. His choice to accept or refuse. And I am a free man. No parolee status and an ironclad guarantee that charges will not be filed after the agreement ends. Finally, I never have to work with Agent Fischer."

Abbott glanced at Lisbon. "I can't obligate someone to work with you, Jane."

"Make it attractive enough so she will."

The silence stretched to breaking. Abbott grudgingly relented. "If I agree, you will forgo any legal action regarding the period from your return to today, and agree to keep confidential any information regarding your stay in the detention suite."

Jane nodded stiffly.

Moore interjected smoothly, "I will be happy to draft language to that effect by Monday. If you can provide me with a list of the charges to be dropped–" Abbott slid over the FBI's draft contract from the first negotiations.

"Our legal staff will have to review it."

After glancing at Lisbon and receiving a nod, "I'll also draft language to include in the FBI's offer letter to Chief Lisbon."

Abbott stood. "If that's all, we'll meet when language is finalized." Looking at Jane, "Agent Cho will stay at a local hotel with you at FBI expense, Jane."

"Pity you didn't honor our agreement, Abbott."

Jane, Lisbon and Moore made their way to the lobby. Cho got up and joined them as they left.

**Abbott and Fischer**

Now after hours, Abbott passed Fischer's office and growled, "My office. Now."

She hesitantly entered and sat down. Abbott finished making notes on his computer before clicking it off and looking up.

"Jane and I reached an agreement. He gets his original terms. And more."

"How will we control him if he isn't under parolee status? Hiring Lisbon makes no sense. She isn't a qualified FBI agent!"

"Fischer, you have no clue how badly you fucked this up, do you?" he asked calmly. "I'm giving Jane everything he asked for because you handed me a loss. Assault. Forced nudity – which after Abu Ghraib and Gitmo is seen for the abuse it is. Violating protocol for solitary confinement alone would get you an official reprimand."

Hotly, "I tried everything. Jane wouldn't even talk to me. What was I supposed to do?"

Abbott looked away, sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Tiredly, " My mistake leaving you to manage Jane's confinement–"

"–But." A glare stopped her cold.

"-I compounded that mistake by failing to provide guidance when you asked. You are suspended without pay for two weeks. But you won't lose your job."

She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to marshal the words she needed.

"Team leader is off the table. You'll be joining me on the Blake case. And you will attend the next available seminar on due process and civil rights at your own expense."

Her face paled and she looked about to explode – or implode.

"Dismissed." Abbott gathered a few papers, rose, and left. Fischer sat, stunned, for a long while before leaving his empty office.


	9. Chapter 9 - Now What?

**Chapter 9: Now What?**

**Team Lisbon**

Jane led the way, stride lengthening till Lisbon was trotting to keep up. Once outsideJane stopped dead and the others stepped aside awkwardly to avoid crashing into him. A car honked and he visibly startled before turning to the other three.

"What now?"

Placing her hand on his arm, "Jane, Dr. Kendall is waiting for us. You need to be examined," Lisbon said calmly.

Stiffening, "No. I'm fine, just need a meal and, uh, hotel room."

Smoothly, "Mr. Jane, do you accept me as your attorney?" Moore waited politely. Jane glanced at Lisbon who raised her eyebrows and nodded. After intently looking him up and down Jane nodded. "–As your attorney, I strongly recommend having a physician examine you. Should this end up in court, documented facts by a credible third party will be invaluable."

Jane inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, "Okay." He slumped a little as the tension eased.

Cho said, "Jane, I'm responsible for you. I'll get the SUV," and walked off. Jane looked at Lisbon, _'What next?'_ in his expression.

"Mr. Moore, I need to ride with them. Would you mind following?"

"I have nothing to contribute there. If you'll tell me the hotel, I'd like to meet with you–" Lisbon frowned and he hastened to emphasize, "–_briefly_ to pin down the details about the agreement. And offer letter."

Cho pulled up and Lisbon moved her luggage to Cho's vehicle. Moore left for the Omni Southpark Hotel where Cho said they would be staying and the other three left for Dr. Kendall's office.

The better part of an hour later Kendall emerged alone while Jane dressed.

"Ms. Lisbon, Mr. Cho, Mr. Jane gave me permission to share his medical information with you. Overall, he is in excellent physical health. He is underweight by 18 pounds which he explained is because he has been skipping meals. And his reflexes are slightly impaired. That is consistent with the drug identified in the toxicology report you showed me. Most of the drug was eliminated from his system in the three days since he stopped eating. The rest will be metabolized and excreted gradually over the next week. Any questions?"

Lisbon had to ask, "Signs of other abuse?"

"Not physical. As for his mental and emotional status, 40 days of solitary confinement invariably has an effect. Mr. Jane is exhibiting some typical reactions."

"We're in law enforcement and know the impact of solitary confinement. Can you tell us about Jane?"

"I have no baseline since this is my first meeting. I do observe he startles easily, is generally anxious, and seems skeptical verging on paranoid about a simple medical examination." Kendall looked surprised when Cho snorted softly, then continued. "He seems somewhat emotional. These effects will lessen but may never completely disappear."

Jane quietly joined them.

Lisbon asked, "Is any kind of follow-up needed?"

"No. Some diagnostic results won't be back till next week. I or my nurse will call with the results either way." He turned to Jane. "Mr. Jane, solitary confinement has significant psychological effects. I encourage you to seek professional help."

"Thank you." Lisbon looked expectantly at Jane who belatedly added his own thanks.

They finally were on their way. Lisbon sat in back with Jane while Cho drove. Jane let his head fall back, eyes closed.

"You okay?" Lisbon asked.

"Getting there." He opened his eyes and gave her the first smile since their initial meeting over a month ago. "Thanks to you. And you," he added, including Cho.

Cho caught his eye in the mirror. "Jane, I need your word you won't disappear."

Carefully, "So long as you're responsible for me, I won't disappear." Lisbon stiffened next to him. Jane added quietly, "Why would I vanish? I _chose_ to come back. I'll make this work."

Lisbon relaxed. "Good."

They sat in silence for the rest of the short drive. _The team strong-armed Abbott so I could meet Bertram, go after Red John. I owe more than I can ever repay. _His reminiscing was interrupted when Cho parked at the hotel. Cho took a three-bedroom suite with a shared living area. They had a bellhop take up Lisbon's luggage and Cho's go-bag when Jane insisted he couldn't wait longer for tea. Or food. Moore met them in the hotel restaurant and went over a few points for the agreement, then left for his flight to Dallas.

They opened the door to the suite. Cho checked each room from an excess of caution then picked up his go bag and chose a bedroom at random.

"Must be nice working for a bureau with money," Lisbon commented wistfully, looking around.

Jane muttered, "Nicer. Still a cage." Lisbon let it pass, picked up her carry on and looked at Jane who waved his hand, indifferent. She disappeared into a bedroom.

Having nothing but the clothes on his back, Jane poked around the room, made restless by the bright artwork and sheer _differentness_ from his surroundings of the 43 solitary days on top of the two years. Lisbon found him studying the room service menu when she came back.

"Hungry again?" she asked with a smile.

He started then turned with an answering smile. "It's just a pleasure to read printed material again. In English."

Her smile faded. "What? You – you didn't have anything to read?" She looked beyond his immediate fake smile.

"I reread a dozen books, everything Shakespeare, and the Bible, St. James version," he said, tapping his temple. "It may be controversial, but the _language!_ It–"

"Jane." She cut him off, voice sharper than intended. Anger flared at this new detail of abuse.

Cho walked over. His lips twitched at Jane's inadvertent revelation but he said nothing.

Unable to stay still any longer, Jane turned and faced them. "I really need to take a walk. Lisbon?" She nodded. He looked at Cho. "Two hours." Lisbon stepped into her room to get her wallet.

Cho nodded and turned away. The Jane of old wouldn't have bothered to reassure him, would have evaded answering if pressed. _Changed. Definitely changed._ Lisbon's company was insurance. Cho mentally sighed. Divided loyalties were never good on an assignment.

**Lisbon and Jane**

A few minutes later found them outside. Jane walked faster than Lisbon wanted till she had to ask him to slow down. That got her a sheepish grin and he set a merely brisk pace. How he knew there was a park nearby she couldn't magine. _Scent? Sounds?_ Once in the park he slowed to a stroll and they walked side by side. Ferocious daytime heat had mellowed to a warm caress as twilight painted the western sky with pastels that were graying to dark. Spying a bench, Jane guided Lisbon there with a touch on her elbow and they sank onto the sun-warmed slats. Their legs inadvertently brushed. Jane's arm was thrown over the back.

Suddenly there was everything and nothing to say. "How have you been for the past 700 days?" "Was exposing Blake worth destroying your life?" "How did killing McAllister feel?" ... "What do you want to do with the rest of your life?" _And with whom?_

They sat in companionable silence as each gathered scattered thoughts. Ever practical, Lisbon ventured, "You never did say what this is all about."

The corner of Jane's mouth quirked up, "Abbott interrupted us. And then, well, haven't had a free moment." He winked.

Lisbon took a deep breath and bit her lip. "You must have had a plan. What happened?"

Jane closed his eyes. "Abbott offered a get out of jail free card if I work for the FBI." He shrugged. "He implied he accepted my terms in Venezuela." Her eyes teared at learning where he had been for the first time in two years. Jane continued, "Thought it was fifty-fifty whether he'd honor them. Now I know what I'm dealing with."

"Patrick Jane doesn't throw himself on the mercy of the Feds. What was your leverage?"

He grinned. _Being understood is an underrated pleasure._ "Haven't used it yet. Fischer gummed up the works," he said, his tone a breath of frost.

"You'll really work for the FBI for five years?"

"Under my terms." She was his first term. He turned and looked at her, forgetting to breathe. "What about you?"

Lisbon didn't answer immediately. She looked him over, drinking in the familiar, assessing the obvious and the subtle changes. He was keyed up, angry about the detention, off balance from the drugs. The big change was what was missing. The sense of teetering on the edge of madness and murder was gone for the first time she had known him. She swallowed a lump. _Nothing ventured..._

"That depends on you, Jane."

His eyes flicked to her left hand, then met her steady gaze. "You have me at a disadvantage, Teresa," he said softly. "You know about me from my letters. I – I don't know anything about where you are now. If you're happy in Washington..." Anxiety battled warm affection in his eyes.

That earned him a grin. "The great Patrick Jane doesn't know?" she mocked gently.

He rose to the challenge and enveloped her right hand between both of his. His piercing blue‑green eyes laid her bare. "You're working as a police chief in Washington. You lost ... _everything_ when the CBI was disbanded, after I killed McAllister and ran. Abbott didn't file charges. He also never gave you credit for Red John and Blake. Cho left to join the FBI. Rigsby and Van Pelt–" He read her reaction, "–remain friends, but aren't nearby. Your job is–" he took in her micro-reactions, "boring. So Washington is settling. A paycheck. And, no - no serious relationship keeping you warm at night." The blush tinted her cheeks and crept down her neck, making him smile smugly. "Oh, something kept you warm at night, but it wasn't in Washington." She pulled her hand from his and whapped him lightly on the chest.

"Jane!"

"Lisbon, I came back because everything – every_one_ – I care about is here. I'll gladly work for the FBI if," he swallowed with difficulty, "–if I get back what I had at the CBI."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow and murmured, "'Except for that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?'"

"Except for that."

She licked her lips. Softly, "I've missed you. But I want more than being your sidekick as we solve cases for Abbott," she said, faint disgust coloring her voice at Abbott's name. "You – you're ready to move on?" she asked with more hope than certainty. Sunlight glinted off his wedding band.

His smile broke like sunrise. "Despite my 'devotion' to law enforcement, I want more too. A lot more."

"You meant what you said? No disappearing?"

His arm draped around her shoulders and he puller her closer. "I want to be where you are, Teresa. That will never change." She couldn't say anything around the lump in her throat. She nestled against him with a sigh, giving him the answer he needed.

After a while, he shifted uneasily. She looked up. "What is it?"

"What if Blake isn't over for us?"

She frowned. "Abbott is still working Blake. Don't know if he'll want us on it."

"What if we're pulled into it? Are you up for that?"

She tilted her head and a crease appeared between her eyebrows. "You know something, don't you?"

"_Suspect_, Lisbon. –A hunch."

She straightened and pulled away to face him, eyes fiery. "I'd _love_ to put away those bastards. They smeared us all. Too bad Bertram's already dead."

He grinned. "That's my Lisbon." He drew her into a hug. "I've missed you so much."

They pulled back to face one another. The surroundings faded as their total attention focused on each other. Jane licked his lips and drew closer, breathing shallow and fast. Lisbon tilted her chin up, eyelids fluttering shut as she closed the distance and brushed his lips with hers. His arms tightened, pressing her to him. Kisses multiplied and were sprinkled on her cheeks, along her jaw, on her forehead, delicately on eyelids and then back to lips. She responded eagerly with joy and relief so strong it neared pain. Breathing heavily, they finally drew apart, green eyes shining into blue-green, cheeks aching with smiles.


	10. Chapter 10 - Changes

**Chapter 10: Changes**

**Jane and Lisbon**

Hand in hand, Jane and Lisbon retraced their steps out of the park. Street lamps began to glow as night fell. In sheer exhilaration, Jane took two graceful strides and launched himself off the concrete lamp base to swing around the pole. Jumping down he grabbed both her hands and swung her around several times.

Laughing and breathless, "Jane, stop, stop! I'm dizzy."

His smile put all earlier ones to shame. The smile was no longer a mask, but open joy. _Happy at last,_ she thought with a lump in her throat and realized a second later she was too.

Back to walking, he observed, "I never got my closed case pizza. Call Cho and tell him we're bringing it."

"What? And how will we find a pizza place?"

"Saw it in the local guide at the hotel. This way, a few blocks."

**Jane, Lisbon, and Cho**

A half hour later Lisbon and Jane opened the door to the suite. Cho set aside his book. They put the pizza on the small round table while Cho distributed napkins and chilled bottles of beer. Jane shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, ready to dig in.

Cho. "Why pizza?" as they rapidly made it vanish.

"Closed case pizza two years late," Jane informed him. "We closed Red John. We even finished with Blake when the FBI took over."

"Could say that."

"Look," Jane glanced at his friends and former colleagues. "I realize it cost all of you. But the SCU accomplished the extraordinary. Let the cop in you take some satisfaction."

Impassively, "Okay."

"Don't get so carried away, Cho." _God I miss the team. Pizza with Jane and Cho. Like old times._ "Huh?" she asked, realizing she'd missed a question.

Cho repeated, "You're gonna work for the FBI then," more statement than question.

She glanced at Jane, "If the offer comes through. –How'd you know?"

He snorted softly, glancing from one to the other. "You haven't stopped smiling. Jane may spontaneously combust." _Hell, happiness is rolling off him in waves. Never seen him so happy – for real, not just a front._

Jane finished chewing and washed down the bite. "Cho, my friend, you have decisions to make too." Lisbon watched curiously but kept silent, knowing this was Jane's case to make.

Cho set his beer down. Wary, "Like?"

"I upped the ante. My original terms plus two. Abbott has to offer you the choice of working with me – us. And no Fischer."

Impassively, "Why?"

Jane leaned back, patting a visibly fuller stomach in satisfaction. His face grew serious. "So far, Austin isn't working out for you. After six months Abbott doesn't trust you, you don't trust him. You respect Fischer as an agent–" Jane's eyes narrowed as Cho's minute reactions suggested that opinion had changed, "–but don't want to work under her. And ..." he studied Cho closely, "you wanted to work on ... Blake?" He continued confidently as Cho's tells confirmed his guess, "but haven't had the chance. Anything I'm missing?"

Cho thought for a minute. "What's in it for you?"

"I owe you."

"You do."

"I _do,_" Jane echoed, sharp tone leaving no doubt about his sincerity.

"What else?"

Jane leaned back, tapping his lower lip with a forefinger. Cho and Lisbon exchanged glances. Jane continued, "I've recently had a lot of time to think," his cheeky grin flashed and faded. "Abbott's been working Blake for two years. All the easy ones are behind bars. Which leaves the hard ones, the big fish. If it was as easy as checking for red dot tattoos, it would be wrapped up. He was away–"

"–Chicago," Cho supplied.

"–over a month. Unplanned judging by Fischer's fumbling. Not going well. So long as the leaders are out there, Blake isn't over." He paused.

"True." He looked hard at Jane. "That's not why you're interested."

Jane swallowed. "Anyone I care about is in law enforcement. You. Lisbon. Rigsby and Van Pelt?"

"Private detective agency now," Lisbon clarified.

"No matter. You're vulnerable to corrupt cops. Some may target you for exposing the conspiracy."

Lisbon injected, "Why now? Wouldn't threats have surfaced by now?"

"Abbot's kept Blake on the run. Once he wraps up the small fish, the bosses will recreate their network, take the initiative."

Back to Cho, "How does that affect my decision?"

Jane leaned forward. "l have to work for the FBI for five years. Why not tackle something important to us?"

"How do we convince Abbott?" Lisbon asked, snorting in disdain.

"By making ourselves useful. I know what we can do. Abbott's about to find out."

Cho closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "Maybe. Let you know after I talk to Abbott."

Jane grinned widely. _Cho's almost convinced. Lisbon, Cho. Like coming home._

Jane pulled the deck of cards they bought at a drug store from his vest. "How about a little fun?"

"Hah! We know better," Lisbon protested.

"Um, how 'bout this? I'll prop up that giant, pretentious hotel service guide so I can't see your faces, just the cards. Should even the odds."

"Sure," Cho agreed with a hint of a smile.

Lisbon added, "Cho and I shuffle and deal. You just cut."

Jane grinned, "Hey! I spent two years on a tropical isle rusting away."

"Since when do I look like Rigsby?" Cho grunted. Rigsby had always been a sucker for Jane's games and schemes.

"What do we play for?"

Jane reached back and grabbed the bag from the pizza parlor. "M &amp; M's." He glanced at Lisbon. "You've spent a bundle on flights because of me. I need to repay you. –Cho, any casino gambling in Aus–"

"No!" they answered in unison. Cho continued, "Jane, you are technically my prisoner. No gambling on my watch."

Jane grimaced as he divided the candy bits equally. "No matter. I'll have your money soon, Lisbon." Jane fetched the guide and set it across two boxes of boutique tissue.

"I'll collect in person," she smiled.

Their game broke up a couple of hours later, Jane having won most of the candy. When prodded, he reluctantly told them their breathing changed depending on how good their cards were. Cho called it a night after thanking Jane for the reminder since he'd be working with him again.

Lisbon and Jane straightened the mess, then sank onto the couch with sighs.

"You feeling okay?" she asked, searching his features for signs of the drugs and maybe exhaustion.

"You're here. Of course." He patted the couch, encouraging her to move closer. They spent another couple of hours talking about everything and nothing. Lisbon talked about Cannon Falls and filled him in on Rigsby and Van Pelt. Jane answered questions about the island and people he had written about. When Jane stopped talking, Lisbon looked around to find he had fallen asleep. She thought about getting up, but put it off, too comfortable nestled against his side to move.

**Cho**

Cho found them sleeping on the couch Saturday morning. Jane semi-reclined against the corner of the couch with Lisbon leaning against him, arms loosely clasped around the arm Jane draped around her waist. It reminded him how much he missed the CBI, missed the team. This made his decision as much as Jane's pitch. Now he only needed some facts from Abbott.

He returned to his room and read for awhile. Later he was surprised to get a text from Abbott directing him to meet at the FBI at 10 a.m. Abbott was in town for his daughter's graduation and Cho wondered what why he'd want to meet. Cho was glad to have a chance to get his questions answered – especially before Lisbon had to return to Washington on Sunday.

**Cho and Abbott**

Abbott waved Cho in through the glass panel. "Yes, Sir?"

Abbott motioned for Cho to sit. "Where's Jane?"

"Conference room."

Slightly frowning, "He'll stick around?"

"With Lisbon. And I have his word."

Abbott leaned back with a slight smile. With an edge, "Well, then. Guess that's all you need." Cho nodded tightly but didn't say anything. "You know I'm forming a new team with Jane on it."

"Fischer's team?"

"And that is why you're here. Fischer's going to work Blake. I'm offering you the team leader position."

Though his face was expressionless, Cho straightened and exhaled sharply. "Why, Sir?"

"Agent Fischer can be better utilized elsewhere. You have extensive experience and well-documented leadership potential. You declined several promotions at the CBI."

"What would the team look like?"

"You get Jane. And Lisbon if she'll work for the FBI. Your pick of the unassigned data analysts. Plus one more agent next budget year."

"Types of cases? Expectations?"

"The powers that be think Jane is God's gift to solving cases. You're responsible for making it work. Your cases will run the gamut – anything that isn't a specialty area like Fraud, Art Theft, or Organized Crime."

Cho sat silently for a few minutes. He finally looked at Abbott with a level gaze. "Permission to speak freely?"

Abbott nodded.

"After six months you still suspect I'm in Blake. I can't lead under suspicion."

"You've been investigated six ways from sundown. Nothing surfaced. I'm confident you are _not_ Blake. You'll get a fair shot."

"And Jane and Lisbon?"

"Despite my misgivings about Jane, we've had him under surveillance for a year. There were no contacts by a known Blake member while he was on that island. No evidence he was in Blake before he killed McAllister. –I _tentatively _assume Jane isn't Blake."

"Why are you taking that risk?"

"The SCU seemed to operate in its own tight bubble. If you and Lisbon aren't Blake, odds are pretty good Jane isn't. If he is, it'll come out. Either way, I win."

Cho took a deep breath. "I have one more question." Abbott nodded. "What aspects of Jane's detention were at your direction?"

Abbott's gaze hardened. "Fischer managed Jane's confinement. Her specific actions were against the regs. I found out about the ... extra-legal measures yesterday."

"You turned a blind eye."

Abbott frowned. "I _am_ responsible for everything in this office, but nothing beyond detention was sanctioned. Blake took precedence and I'm dealing with the fallout of my inattention. Take it or leave it, Cho."

"May I give you my decision Monday?"

"Yes." At Abbott's nod, Cho left.

Abbott sat for awhile, gaze unfocused. _This is either the smartest move I could make. Or the dumbest. Risky letting such a tight team reconstitute itself. Could be worth it if Jane delivers. Just how much chaos am I in for? –Damn Fischer's inexperience._

_And my negligence._


	11. Chapter 11 - Reset

**Chapter 11: Reset**

**Cho, Lisbon and Jane**

A preoccupied Cho fetched them from the conference room. Nothing was said till they were outside. All three felt like they were leaving enemy territory.

"What's goin' on?" Lisbon asked for the second time in as many days. _I need a new line. Or control of my life._

"Lunch?" Jane interjected brightly. _Abbott handed him a wild card. Needs space._

Lisbon seamlessly picked it up. "Cho, how about a mall? Jane needs – everything," she finished, surprised at the realization. The only reason Jane had clothes was because she'd brought them. She set aside simmering irritation at the FBI's high handedness and smothered concerns about joining - _that_.

Cho drove to a nearby mall and chose a chain restaurant. Jane led them to an outdoor table shaded by an awning. Though not gourmet, the food was reliably good. Jane finished his and anything Lisbon and Cho didn't eat. Cho almost kidded him on pulling a "Rigsby" till he recalled why Jane was so hungry. They kept conversation light during the meal.

Cho finally broached Abbott's meeting. "Abbott made me an offer." He noticed Jane checking no one was within earshot. _Cautious? Or effect from solitary detention?_

"For?" Lisbon prompted.

"Team leader. I'd get Jane."

Lisbon and Jane exchanged glances, said nothing. Pushing Cho was never the right move.

Cho looked at Jane. "Abbott said he didn't direct Fischer's actions," question implied.

"I believe that," Jane said.

"Either I take it. Or I'll transfer."

"What do you want to do?" Lisbon asked.

"Depends partly on you," he answered, glancing at each.

Impatient, Lisbon said, "Spit it out, Cho. What do you need from us?"

"Your intentions. A commitment."

Jane inhaled and exhaled slowly, then looked levelly at Cho. "You're my smart play. My odds of getting through five years and finishing Blake are best with you."

Cho looked at Lisbon. "I'm interested so long as I get the offer and work with Jane. But I have a question." Cho waited. "Can you trust Abbott? I don't want to find ourselves in a firefight and backup never arrives. Or fighting trumped up legal charges."

"Jane, your take?" A decade at the CBI had ground home the value of Jane's perspective.

Languidly, "I trust Abbott's ambition." Noticing Lisbon's reaction, "It's a good thing. Predictable. Abbott is hard-nosed and I didn't like being on the receiving end," he acknowledged. "But he's smart. Wily. Ambitious. Appears to be straight arrow."

Lisbon's spoon dropped with a clatter, "_Appears?"_

Jane leaned forward, elbows on the table, rubbing his jaw. "That is the question, isn't it? Abbott's been rounding up Blake foot soldiers. Yet the generals are still out there. How convenient for Blake if Abbott is one of them."

"Cripes, Jane," Cho said, unpleasantly recalling just how layered and devious Jane's world was which, of course, was why they needed him. "How sure are you?"

"About Abbott, don't know. Abbott's too important to destroying Blake to _assume_ anything. About Blake's leaders at large? Very sure."

Cho sat back in thought._ Exiled two years. Jane's here a day, isolated for 40, and free two more. For some reason he thinks Abbott missed Blake's leaders. Anybody else and I'd recommend a padded room._ Cho winced remembering Jane's history. _But dammit, it's Jane._

Cho looked up. "Let's walk through it. We all want Blake finished?" They nodded. "Enough to tackle _another_ major campaign?" He looked pointedly at Jane, who'd spent a quarter of his life getting Red John.

Jane murmured. "''Twas yesterday I bowed so low, Was weak from tears and pain; Today I'm strong; my fears are gone; Today I fight again.'" He looked up. "I won't live looking over my shoulder."

When Cho looked at her, Lisbon said, "Finish what we started. After all Blake cost us, there's nothing I want more."

To both, "You can work for me?" To Jane, "Co-exist with the bureaucracy? With Abbott? Also work regular cases?" They nodded again.

"I'll tell Abbott Monday."

**Lisbon and Jane**

Cho, Lisbon and Jane strolled toward the mall.

"If it's okay with you, I'm gonna help Jane shop for clothes."

Running his hand through a mop of unruly curls, "Haircut, too. Do you–" Jane looked at Cho's regulation FBI cut and frowned. "Never mind. I'll take my chances."

"I'll be in the bookstore," Cho pointed. "Meet here in three hours." Cho walked away.

Lisbon looked at his retreating back, uncomfortable Cho was so blatantly breaking guard protocol.

Jane leaned over and put his hand on her shoulder. Softly, "We've risked far more with and for each other. I won't put Cho in a bind."

She looked at Jane. "I know. It's just–"

He smiled, "-Twenty years as a cop will do that to you. Relax." And she did.

Jane was excited by the crowds, colors, and noise after a month in isolation. When the mall directory revealed no barber shop, Jane shrugged and chose a salon. They had to wait because of heavy Saturday traffic, so Jane amused Lisbon by reading passers by. She was relieved he was entertained rather than overwhelmed, and fondly rolled her eyes as he charmed the all-female salon staff. Jane was draped with a hot pink cape and Lisbon called out, "Go, Jane! It's you." Nonetheless, he got a decent haircut and shave from the stylist. Lisbon paid the bill and tipped her well.

Lisbon stood back and surveyed him admiringly. "Looks good."

Jane grinned in return. "Been ages since I've had a decent trim and shave."

After hesitating a second, she ran her hand along his smooth jaw and pecked him on the cheek. "I could tell."

Amused, "Don't like island chic?"

She snorted, "So _that's_ what you call looking like a beach bum. C'mon, lots to do."

A drug store supplied basic toiletries, and then they headed for the best men's store in the mall.

"Lisbon, okay if I run up a big tab on your card? I'll cover it in about a week."

She stopped and turned to face him. "Jane, I know the FBI froze your assets. You'll just–"

"-I have liquid assets."

She said seriously, "Banks have to report transactions of ten-thousand and up. Don't give Abbott any more power over you."

"Shhh. A friend will deliver a money order in any amount I want. You can use it to pay the bill, no bank involved." Off on a tangent, "The method's used world over and, yeah, often for illicit activity because it can't be traced."

"Oh."

As they walked, Jane periodically glanced at her, frowning. "What's wrong? Oh, uh, the money's legit, taxes paid and everything," he reassured her.

"It's not that." Taking his hand she pulled him over to a bench. "I'm not sure how to talk about this." She looked at him anxiously. "The FBI froze your assets after McAllister. I got your books from the CBI and suits from your motel–"

"You didn't have to do that, thank you. I wondered where the clothes came from."

"Geez, they're expensive and I couldn't see leaving them." Her face fell in remembered distress.

Jane hugged her. "I never expected that. Still taking care of me after I left," he said quietly. "–This is a favor. Sweet. Why the long face?"

She took a deep breath. "I've been paying for your Sacramento storage locker. I peeked inside and didn't think you'd want to lose ... that." When she looked Jane's eyes were closed and his face blank, mask in place for the first time.

He finally looked at her. Voice thick with emotion, "Teresa, you–" He swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "When I moved to Sacramento I brought the – personal things too. After McAllister it was months before I could think about that. I, I thought it was all gone." He looked away as tears streaked his face.

Lisbon squeezed his hand reassuringly and handed him tissue from her purse. Briskly, "I'll get us sodas from that stand." Jane had regained his composure by the time she returned.

They continued to the men's store. Jane chose three suits, off-the-rack but still expensive. He could get hand-tailored or his preferred brand later. He glanced at Lisbon, smiled and added the matching vests to his purchase. The suits Lisbon rescued had been well and heavily worn for over a decade. Though he vaguely recalled several were in decent shape, needing only alterations to the lapels and pants to update them, he was sure new ones would be needed. He bought a basic supply of underwear and accessories, enough casual clothes for a few weeks, and luggage. Though still rootless, he'd no longer look homeless.

**The Austin-San Francisco Connection**

Jane jerked the phone away at the ear-splitting squeal of delight. Cho called Rigsby and Van Pelt every other Saturday night when he wasn't on a case. This time Jane placed the call, surprising Van Pelt.

Jane switched to speaker and set it on the table.

"Can't believe you're back. You're out of detention?"

"Lisbon and Cho sprung me yesterday."

"Hey, man. Good hearing from you."

"You, too, Rigs. Hey - that 'Jane Fund" must be flush after two years. I'll have to lighten the load."

"In your dreams. Ben and Taylor sop up my spare change these days."

"Jane, you're here _permanently_?" Grace interjected.

"Back for good. I missed you – all of you."

Cho interjected, "Call me back, okay? I have news, too." Rigsby and Van Pelt knew to call his burner phone with one on their end. Having swept the hotel suite for bugs, he knew the call would be private.

"Cho, why the cloak and dagger?" Rigsby asked when Cho answered.

"Abbott offered me team leader."

"Wow! You deserve it, but – out of the blue? Thought you didn't get along."

Cho glanced at Jane. "Fischer self-destructed botching Jane's detention."

Rigsby's voice became serious, "But Abbott?"

"Finally decided I'm not Blake. Either I take this. Or I need to transfer."

Van Pelt all but growled, "Abbott's an SOB." Her opinion hadn't changed since Abbott dismantled the CBI.

"Abbott's got Blake. The three of us want in to finish it up."

"Why get into that again?" Rigsby asked plaintively. He was overjoyed to leave the CBI debacle firmly in the past.

Van Pelt caught on first. "'Three of us'? You, Lisbon and Jane?"

"Yeah. If we stir up Blake, you need to be careful too."

Rigsby, puzzled, "Us? There a specific threat?"

"Jane hunch."

"Crap," Rigsby said softly, always ready to take Jane seriously.

"More when we know more. How're things?"

Rigsby was happy to switch topics. "Got that big employer contract. Will be busy for months. Ben learned the backstroke and Taylor even paddles around now."

Van Pelt chimed in. "With all the work, good thing the new contract came in _after_ the break-in."

"Break-in?" Jane asked, interest sharpened.

"Nothing much. Probably a teenager. Took our computers but fortunately everything's automatically backed-up. We're out a few grand, most of which insurance will cover."

"Hi, Grace," Lisbon said, toweling her hair as she emerged from her room. "When did it happen?"

"Just after your visit, 'bout a month ago. –So you are definitely going to Austin?"

"Yeah. The boredom's killing me. Jane negotiated a deal where I have agent status and opportunities. Me. FBI."

"Congratulations, Boss," Rigsby inserted.

"–I'm not your boss."

"Right, Boss."

Van Pelt opined sourly, "If you can stand Abbott."

Lisbon smiled, "I'll be working for Cho. _He_ gets the Abbott headaches. -And Jane complaints!"

"Keep telling yourself that. Hey, call me some time."

"Sure, Grace." Lisbon looked around. "I think we're talked out on this end. I'll call you when I'm back in Washington."

"Congrats again, Cho. Glad you're back, Jane," Rigsby said.

"–Bye," several voices said simultaneously.

The three went out afterward for dinner. Still interested in the break-in, Jane learned Lisbon was also burglarized shortly after her move to Cannon Falls. Cho explained he shared an apartment while training at Quantico and was happy _not_ to have a break-in, then turned to Jane and frowned.

"You think that's something?

Jane shrugged. "Lot of coincidences."

"That's only the Rigsby's and me," Lisbon said hopefully.

"Except," Cho said slowly, "I stored my stuff rather than move it cross country. Discovered my storage locker had been jimmied when I moved here." He grimaced. "Someone thinks we have something."

Jane nodded and sipped his tea. "And the game begins."

Hours later at the hotel Cho turned in leaving Lisbon and Jane to talk. They again ended up on the couch. Lisbon's flight left early the next morning and neither wanted the night to end. Jane pulled her closer and kissed her temple. She turned and took his face in both hands.

"So glad you're back," she murmured, underscoring her feelings with kisses. Jane eagerly deepened their kisses, passion sweeping over him. Lisbon abruptly drew back.

Jane opened his eyes, "Teresa? Is–"

She took a breath, a small grin reassuring him. "It's fine. It's a little ... new. The hotel. Cho. I've got tons to do in Washington. It–"

Softly, "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't doubt this. The FBI will work out. This is real, the only place I want to be is with you."

She hung on his words, lips slightly parted, gaze sliding from his eyes to his lips and back. She took a tremulous breath. "It's just a lot."

"It is. But it's been 12 years coming. We know each other, want each other. This isn't only about resuming your career, it's _our_ chance." He kissed her slowly, gently, deeply. "Not the time or place, but soon." He rose and pulled her to her feet. "Good night, Teresa." A quick kiss, brief embrace and he turned toward his room.

She stood, uncertain. Softly, "Jane – Patrick. Um, we could sleep in the same bed."

He grinned at her, eyes dark with arousal. "Maybe _you_ could, but it wouldn't stay platonic for me. We can wait to do this right. Cho snoring next door isn't it," he added hearing the faint sounds of their friend.

Lisbon took two steps, kissed him quickly and disappeared into her room before her resolve vanished. _Soon!_


	12. Chapter 12 - Setting Things in Motion

**Chapter 12: Setting Things in Motion**

**Lisbon**

Lisbon resolutely boarded the plane, suppressing a pang of regret at the separation. Her cop persona admonished, _Suck, it up. It's only till the paperwork is ready._ The woman in her hated any separation after two lonely, uncertain years that followed an intense, dangerous and confusing decade.

She put the flight to good use. By the time it landed, she had a list of the myriad tasks needed to wrap up life in Cannon Falls. She made calls during the drive home and arranged to meet a realtor friend that afternoon. She wouldn't list her house for sale until she got the FBI offer letter, but her friend agreed to do the up-front work without a contract so things would be ready to go.

Not until evening did she pause, a bit shocked she was going to go through with it. Fear crept in through the cracks of her uncertainty. Was she really going to disrupt her life – _again!_ – on the strength of a few days with Jane? Quit her job. Move two‑thousand miles. Start a new job Take on the Blake Association. (Again.) Work with Jane. _Be_ with Jane! Every careful, conservative, skeptical cell in her body trembled that her life would be swept away in an instant. Fortunately a late night call from Jane reassured her, flooding her with love and desire so intense she ached. Sometimes the sensible move _was_ to grab the brass ring. A survivor, she knew she would always endure. This was her chance to soar. A wild, hopeful courage welled up. Not only _could_ she do this. She dared anyone to stop her!

On Monday, Moore called to tell Lisbon he FedX'ed the paperwork to the Austin FBI as expected. _Un_expected was Abbott's sudden trip to follow up a Blake lead. Abbott wouldn't be available to meet till late that week even if the FBI legal staff finalized the contract and offer letter right away. Lisbon planned to fly in for the signing. If the offer was as they agreed, she would fax her resignation to the county manager and her real estate contract to her realtor. She could start work at the FBI immediately.

Days she spent readying the PD for the transition. Nights were spent packing, hiring movers, touching base with the not-quite-friends she had made. And talking with Jane. It was always the highlight of the day and the last thing she did before turning in. However much she treasured the letters Jane wrote in exile, his calls were far superior.

The week passed in a whirlwind of chores. She gave the county manager a heads up about the impending job offer and her plans to accept. As with her house, she wouldn't actually resign till she had the offer in hand, but she felt better handling the transition responsibly. The PD had vastly improved under her leadership and one officer was capable of becoming the new chief. He would be the acting chief while the board deliberated and she hoped they would hire him permanently. The county manager let her use her vacation days to fulfill the standard two weeks' notice when she resigned. Lisbon thrilled to think she would soon tackle serious, demanding cases again with part of her old team.

**Cho and Jane**

Cho was worn out. A Jane unburdened by Red John or insomnia had limitless energy. Once Lisbon boarded her flight, Jane asked to check out the more interesting parts of the city. After miles of walking, Jane finally agreed to stop for lunch at the hotel. A few hours later, Jane was again restless, triggering more walking. Jane was dramatically more fit than he had been at the CBI, courtesy of two years of swimming and a month of exercise in detention. A footsore Cho regretted that fact.

Sunday set the tone for the week. Abbott's sudden absence left them at loose ends. Instead of signing the agreement and beginning FBI work, Cho found himself tagging along, theoretically guarding, a hyperactive Jane. Jane seemed incapable of spending more than a few hours at a time in the hotel suite, making Cho wonder if it was a side effect of solitary confinement. Jane wanted to explore as much of the city as possible on foot. Cho wondered if Jane had always been so keenly alert to his surroundings and passers-by, or whether he had forgotten Jane's habits during the two years away. Jane insisted on sitting at a far corner facing the entrance whenever they ate in a restaurant. That triggered Cho's wariness and concerns that the solitary confinement affected Jane more than he first thought.

Fed up with hoofing it around of the city, Cho dropped by the FBI building to fetch a dozen cold case files. They compromised. He and Jane would spend mornings working on files, wander around the city during the afternoon, and be back at the hotel after dinner. Jane's inexhaustible store of entertaining stories would amuse them if reading or TV weren't enough.

**Cho and Jane, Thursday**

Cho and Jane finished studying files for the morning.

"Now what?"

"Cobbler." Jane held up a bag. His faithful, battered footwear nearly succumbed to island saltwater, sand, dust, and mud. "Plenty of time before Lisbon's flight gets in."

"Surprised you don't sleep with the damned things."

Jane ignored the slight. "I'll get the leather uppers replaced before I start work." Jane was dressed in jeans, a shirt, and athletic shoes he had bought with Lisbon the previous Saturday.

"Haven't you had them re-soled a bunch of times?"

"Sure."

Cho's mouth quirked. "New soles, new uppers - new shoes."

Jane looked at him seriously. "No! The cobbler uses these as the pattern and they _are_ the same. You don't appreciate comfortable shoes."

He snorted. "Except for 25 mile marches in Afghanistan."

Jane's eyebrows rose. "Try taking tickets or manning a food stand for 12 or 15 hours. Standing in one place is worse."

Cho shook his head. "You keep telling yourself that. -Lunch after?"

Jane dropped off his shoes and they found a restaurant nearby. It was a touristy area lined with small shops carrying everything tourists might want. They parked and cut through to the next block using a narrow brick pedestrian walkway - a dressed up alley.

"Jane."

"Hmm?" His blond friend looked up from lunch.

"Tell me about the island, why you came back."

Jane examined Cho's expression for clues to the unprecedented personal questions. "Why?"

"Curious."

Jane smiled. "Why?"

"Know what I'm taking on."

The smile became a full blown grin. "You're worried I'm replacing one obsession with another. And that solitary confinement warped me more than you thought." He leaned back with a smirk.

"Your answer?" Cho repeated, long immune to Jane's deflections.

Jane sipped his soda and scanned the restaurant before replying. Softly, "Red John was dead. No need to waste another minute on him." He swallowed, "I had nothing _but_ time to think about everything I'd put off for a decade." The server delivering their food was a welcome break. After a few bites, he continued. "For months I walked or swam till I was tired enough to sleep. Took a while to quit wondering how the team was doing. –I read about the upheaval in California." He shook his head in regret. "I shouldn't have left such a mess for–"

"–McAllister and Blake had to be stopped," Cho interrupted. "If you stayed Blake would have killed you." Quietly, "No one blames you."

Jane sipped more soda to overcome the lump in his throat. "Eventually I didn't think about it unless I wanted to."

"What about people there?"

"Nice people. Still strangers. I liked one kid who worked - _works_ \- for the hotel and speaks English. Smart." He smiled, "A dozen schemes before breakfast."

Cho grunted. "Another you."

Jane tipped his head. "Didn't speak Spanish well enough for other connections."

Cho looked at him hard. "Could have picked it up."

"Didn't."

"Didn't want to?"

Jane shrugged. "Maybe."

"Why'd you come back?"

"Nothing there for me."

"And here?"

He looked away. "Anyone I care about is here."

"And Blake?"

Jane frowned. "Have to deal with Blake to have a life." He looked up. "That's why I care."

After a moment, "Okay."

Jane turned to finishing his meal.

"And the solitary confinement?"

"What can I say, Cho?"

"You're acting paranoid."

"Blake's still out there."

"That's all?"

"Yeah."

They paid and left. A few feet into the pedestrian cut-through Jane told Cho to go ahead while he doubled back to buy new laces for his soon-to-be spiffed up shoes. Shortly, Jane exited and started down the walkway again.

Jane glanced back as an SUV noisily jumped the curb and accelerated toward him.

Jane ran, but knew he couldn't outrun a car. No place to hide. Locked store doors. Shallow doorways.

Jane sprinted. He launched up from a wooden planter. Desperate fingers gripped the second story window sill. He pulled himself as high as he could. The SUV roof cleared his bent knees by inches as it crashed through the planter below.

Jane's grip slipped and he dropped five feet, stumbling on the splintered wood. He fell forward, temple slamming into the brick walk.

Cho turned back at the squealing tires. He leapt sideways, nearly run over. Dark glass hid the driver, mud, the license plate. He pulled his piece, but didn't fire lest it was just an accident.

Adrenaline pumping, he pivoted back to the alley. Sure the SUV was gone, he ran to his downed friend. Dropping to his knees, he checked for pulse, relieved not to see any blood. Jane groaned and moved to rise.

"Stay still. You were hit by a car!"

Jane held his head with a shaky hand. "Not hit," he mumbled, "Fell." This time Cho shoved aside the splintered wood and helped him turn over and sit up. Jane's face sported bruises and scrapes. Cho checked but saw no blood in his hair. Cho fished out his cell phone and started to call for help.

Jane grabbed his arm. "No ambulance! I'm okay."

"Okay, but you're going to the ER. C'mon." Cho helped his dazed friend up and painfully limp to the SUV.

**Jane, Cho and Lisbon**

"Thank you," Lisbon told the ER clerk as she was directed to emergency treatment bay #3. Mouth dry from nerves, she tried twice before she could speak.

"Cho? Jane?"

"In here," Cho answered.

She slipped through the privacy curtain to find Jane seated on the hospital bed with his legs dangling off the side. Cho sat nearby in a plastic chair. Jane's chest was bare except for scattered gauze pads held on with tape. Impressive bruises bloomed blue and purple in a half dozen places. She blinked, setting aside momentary embarrassment as his partial undress. She suppressed noticing that, even if too thin, Jane was surprisingly ripped.

She took a deep breath. "Are you all right? What happened?" She set down her carry-on. The rest of her clothing would arrive at Cho's apartment within a few days.

Jane gave her a crooked grin. "Fine. Like old times."

"He was almost run over. Waiting for x-rays to rule out concussion."

She searched Jane's face, relieved to see that he seemed okay. "Accident?"

"Intentional."

Cho bluntly explained. "An SUV cut through a pedestrian walkway to run him down. No accident."

"Who? Why?"

Jane gently rubbed the sore side of his head. "Blake, I suspect."

"God, that didn't take long." She looked stricken at how fast danger had materialized.

"Just been waiting for their opportunity," Jane said, matter of fact.

Cho looked at him sharply. Voice intense, "Dammit, you expected this!" making sense of Jane's recent behavior.

Lisbon could read the truth of that by Jane's expression. Eyes flashing, "You expected an attack and didn't tell Cho? What the hell, Jane. I should–"

A nurse swept aside the curtain. "You two, _**leave**_. I won't have you harassing a patient."

"But–" objected Lisbon.

"_Now_, or I call Security."

Jane grinned despite his headache.

Cho got up to leave. Lisbon hissed, "Jackass!" as she left.

Jane's voice carried as they left, "Now it's really like old times."

Jane was discharged once concussion was ruled out. He found Cho and Lisbon in the waiting area. By then they had calmed down. By then his amusement faded the nurse booting them out.

**Cho, Lisbon and Jane, Hotel**

Cho, Lisbon and Jane rode to the hotel in near silence. Lisbon brushed Jane away from carrying her bag and glared at Cho to squelch any similar impulse as they entered.

"Tea?" Jane asked hopefully, looking at the hotel restaurant.

"Talk first. Room service," Cho responded brusquely.

Lisbon dropped her bag off in the vacant bedroom while Cho ordered room service. Jane sat on the couch and propped up his leg, favoring his twisted knee. Lisbon and Cho took chairs opposite the sofa. He looked at them apprehensively.

Lisbon let Cho take lead. "Jane, time to talk."

Jane remained silent.

"You _expected_ an attack and didn't warn me. Dangerous. And stupid."

"I didn't _know_ for sure."

Lisbon couldn't help blurting out, "You put Cho in danger too. What the hell were you thinking?"

Jane replied in soothing tones, "I _didn't_ know for sure, didn't want to trigger a search for something that might not exist. –Cho picked up on my caution, so he was forewarned after a–"

"Manipulating." Cho rose and paced, too irritated to sit still. "I haven't given Abbott my answer." He faced Jane, fists on hips, stiff with anger. "If I'm going to take Blake on – take _you_ on, we need ground rules. Red John's dead, no more passes. Either it's a real team or I want no part of you."

Jane swallowed and nodded tightly.

"Three rules. No lying to me. No hiding things. And you clean up your own crap for pissing people off."

Jane took a breath, anger stoked by pain in a dozen places. "Not that simple."

"Why?"

"What's a lie? What's hiding? –I may consider a dozen possibilities without any panning out."

Cho stepped back and exhaled slowly. "Anything you're certain enough to act on, you tell me. You can't do that, say it now and save me the trouble."

Jane swallowed. Grudgingly. "I can live with that. But I'll be damned if I'm going to apologize for saying or doing what I need to solve a case."

Cho looked at him steadily as the silence lengthened. "I'll take the heat for actions _directly_ needed to solve the case. You fix it yourself for messing with people for amusement."

Mockingly, "I can feel the love." Jane slumped. "Okay."

Cho sat down and sipped his coffee, anger subsiding. Lisbon sat mute for minutes. Jane gave her an easy smile, trying to downplay the situation.

Finally, "Jane, I want to work with you, _be_ with you. But it's a real partnership or none at all."

Chastened, "Meaning?"

"Do you expect me to be careful with my life?"

He swallowed. "Of course."

"Then give me the same courtesy. You include me in your thinking and plans or I'll stay in Washington. I'll be damned if I'm gonna move two‑thousand miles only for you to get killed because of ego, or showing off, or whatever the hell else is in your head. Promise or forget it." She clenched her jaw, determined not to give in. Without his word, she wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- live with his reckless behavior. Not now. Not when he was past his family's slaughter and no longer tormented by a psychopath.

Jane reached for his tea, looking down. "I promise." It was almost too soft to hear.

She looked at him. "Say it again."

Louder. "I promise. I want you to be careful too."

After a few awkward minutes, Cho suggested, "Dinner? You can brief us on your thinking about Blake."


	13. Chapter 13 - Joining the FBI

**Chapter 13: Joining the FBI**

**Cho, Libon and Jane**

Dinner was good with all three glad the tension had eased. Cho pressed Jane on his Blake thinking.

Pausing with a full fork, Lisbon asked, "You _don't_ think the FBI wanted you for solving cases. Why?"

Jane sipped his tea, blissful as the warmth washed through him and eased bruises and stiffening muscles from his near fatal encounter. Returning to the conversation, "I realized it in detention. Abbott doesn't want any part of me. Why would the brass? I'm a lowly con man consultant from a corrupt state bureau."

Cho countered, "Red John. Blake. Our hundred percent close rate."

Jane snorted. "One FBI constant is arrogance." Lisbon choked and sputtered on a mouthful of coffee. "The FBI sees only murderer and possible Blake."

"So?" Cho prompted.

"Had to be some other reason. Couldn't be touched in Venezuela, and not just because there's no extradition treaty. Strangers stood out in the small village."

Lisbon murmured, eyebrow raised, "All about you, Jane? Isn't that a stretch?"

He smiled instead of taking umbrage. "Not about me. Remember all those break-ins? Blake ruled out the easy possibilities first. I'm their last target."

Cho again. "For what?"

"Bertram's thumb drive." Jane leaned forward, caught up in the logic of his theory. "Finished with low level Blake, Abbott will have time to go after the upper levels. They're nervous. Bertram was nothing if not sneaky and self-serving. He'd have as many names and as much dirt as he could amass over the years."

"Okay, they want the drive. Why kill you?"

"It hasn't surfaced in two years. I'm their last possibility. Kill me and it stays 'lost.'"

"The FBI lures you out of Venezuela. But then detention protects you," Cho said slowly.

"Until I got out."

"Why now? Why not a month from now, a year?" Lisbon asked.

"What do cops do when a cop is killed?"

"Move heaven and earth to get the perp," she replied.

"I'm not part of the fold till I sign that agreement. That's how I knew it'd be now. If it looks like an accident, no need to look further. End of story."

Cho said, "You put yourself out there as bait." It wasn't a question. Lisbon shuddered.

Jane shrugged diffidently. "Proved my theory."

Lisbon glared angrily. "You're a damned fool. What if you were wrong? A bullet to the head would keep the drive hidden too."

"But prompt a deeper investigation."

"Not going to happen again, Jane. -Where is it?"

"Someplace safe." Cho just looked at him, irritation battling with disapproval.

Jane closed his eyes, then opened them and motioned them closer. In a near whisper, "Pete sealed it in a waterproof case and had it sewn into Daisy's hide."

"–Daisy?" Cho said, confused. Lisbon grimaced, faintly repulsed.

Jane rolled his eyes. "Daisy the elephant gives rides at the carnival. Pete said it wouldn't hurt her. Who would ever guess?"

Lisbon just shook her head.

"How do we go after Blake?" Cho asked.

"Get Grace to decrypt the drive while we figure out if Abbott is clean. If he is, see if he'll go after high levels."

"In the FBI?"

Jane raised his eyebrows, amused. "Reede Smith was Blake."

"Low level," Cho qualified.

"Meaning less useful. McAllister would find weakness and recruit as high as he could. At other organizations, too. –The FBI brass forced Abbot to fetch me. They must be involved."

Cho rested his forehead on his hand, elbow propped on the table. If Jane was right, this would be neither easy nor quick. And it would hinge on the SOB who, till last week, thought _he_ was Blake. He straightened his shoulders and looked up. "Okay. What's first?"

**Starting at the FBI**

At one on Friday, Cho finally gave Abbott his answer. Immediately afterward, Abbott met with Jane and Lisbon to sign the agreement and offer letter. Moore was present and Cho attended at Abbott's request. Other than a few minor changes in language, Moore confirmed that the documents conformed to the deal they had struck and the meeting was over in a half hour. Abbott eyed Jane's bruises and scrapes curiously, but accepted Jane's explanation of nearly being run over by a car without comment.

Jane's assets would remain frozen pending six months of satisfactory performance under the agreement. Abbott told them to work with Lira, who would shepherd them through the new employee process. Afterward Jane and Lisbon accompanied Moore outside.

Lisbon extended her hand. "A pleasure Mr. Moore."

"All mine. Unless there's something more–" he hesitated a moment, but neither spoke up, "a bill for any charges above the retainer will be sent care of the Austin FBI."

"That's fine. I–"

Jane interrupted, "-_We_–"

"-can't thank you enough."

Moore looked Jane over shrewdly then included both when he spoke. "Let me know if you – either of you – ever decide to go into private investigations. I would be interested in your services."

Lisbon frowned. "You haven't seen our work." Jane just smiled.

"I've seen enough. If that's all, I have a plane to catch. Thank you for the opportunity to serve."

They watched a moment as Moore drove away.

"How'd you find him? He's good."

She glanced at him, surprised at Jane's favorable reaction to a lawyer. "Hightower."

Jane's smile widened. "What's Madeline up to these days?"

"Just appointed director of the new California Criminal Investigative Bureau." Jane nodded appreciatively. "I called in some of your chits to get her help."

"Good move."

They turned and reentered the FBI building.

**Abbott and Cho**

Abbott looked up in surprise as Cho followed him out of the meeting.

"Cho?"

"Jane and Lisbon can start next week. I assume Lira will help with the team leader set-up. What about an IT analyst?"

Abbott answered while pulling files from his desk drawer for his next meeting, "You get the vacant office–"

"–Prefer the bullpen with my team."

Abbott shrugged, "Your choice. Human Resources has the list of unassigned analysts." He set the files on the corner of his desk. "Appears you'll hit the ground running. Good. I'll fold your team into rotation as new cases come up. Probably next week."

"Yes, Sir."

Abbott paused. "Anything more?"

Cho placed a half-dozen files on Abbott's desk. "Jane and I read through a dozen cold case files. Good leads on six."

Abbott sat back. His eyes glittered and he tipped his head. "Pick one to follow up. I'll assign the rest to other teams." Cho chose the highest profile one. Abbott glanced at the names on that file and let his lips stretch in a small smile. "Ambitious. I'll be out of town on Blake next week. Don't make a mess of this," he said, nodding at the file in Cho's hand.

Cho nodded and left to get the list of IT analysts from HR. Lisbon and Jane were settling in when he got to the bullpen.

"Cho, okay if I use this desk?" she asked. He nodded.

"Told you, Lisbon. Cho will be back here so he can keep an eye on everyone, right?" Jane looked at Cho, who nodded as he transferred things from a desk in the middle to one next to a wall so that the room was in front of him. Jane continued, "And you're going to get me a couch." Jane winced looking around. "Everything's cold and hard around here. Terrible for thinking."

"You'll get your couch, Jane." It was quitting time. "Go find something to drive and someplace to live, both of you. -We'll tackle the Avilard case on Monday." Lisbon glanced at Jane, whose return glance promised to fill her in on the cold case they'd be working.

Lisbon started toward the elevators, but Jane hung back. "I want to vet the analysts."

Cho looked steadily at him. "You'll both talk to them. I decide." Lisbon dragged Jane off by his sleeve lest he get on the wrong side of Cho. Cho looked at their retreating forms and allowed himself a ghost of a smile. _Hit the ground running all right._ His professional – and personal – life had just gotten ten times more interesting and rewarding. He ignored the increased danger.

**Lisbon and Jane**

Lisbon and Jane walked away from rental office number seven on HR's list. The FBI would pay for three months at furnished, fully equipped apartments till they made permanent living arrangements.

"Jane, what happened to that trailer–"

"_–Airstream_."

"–Airstream in your terms?"

"Still there. I have three months to find and buy one at their expense. Or I can make other arrangements so long as the money is the same."

She grumbled, "Can't believe they're buying you a home!"

Jane sighed, slightly annoyed. "Wouldn't have to if they released my assets. I had a hard enough time with my Malibu house thanks to the FBI."

She stopped walking and put her arm on his. "Oh! –But it's okay? I mean, you didn't lose it, did you?"

Eyes closed, he leaned his head back and let the warmth of the sun soak in. "I paid the taxes through a third party so it wasn't confiscated and sold." He turned to her and fished in a vest pocket. "Here," he said, handing her an envelope. "Reimbursement for those purchases."

She looked inside. "Jane! This is way more than you charged."

He grinned, "So buy me lunch."

She tucked the money order into her purse and decided to let it slide for the moment. "About time. We've toured seven places and you don't like anything."

"Not so," he protested mildly. "Just that the security wasn't good enough."

One lunch and two more complexes later, they finally found apartments acceptable to him. The rental agent left them alone in the apartment for a few minutes while taking a call.

Jane looked around. Attractive, up-scale, impersonal. But it was defensible and two apartments were available side-by-side.

"Okay with you, Lisbon?"

"It's fine, Jane. The last _four_ complexes were fine."

Hesitantly, "You're all right living next door? I don't want it to be awkward for you at the FBI. I could live at a nearby complex instead."

She sank down on the couch and waved him over. "It's a little ... soon to live together, but this is good. If we're gonna tackle Blake, I want you as close as possible."

He looked at her curiously. "You hate the bias against female cops, hated the rumors about us in the CBI."

She looked away, then back. "I can't be bothered with what 'people' think. I'm not compromising our safety to gossip, Jane."

He relaxed and kissed her on the cheek. "Good." The realtor returned and they took the apartments.

Lisbon and Jane moved into their apartments on Saturday. The rest of the weekend was wonderful. They moved their clothes and toiletries and then shopped for groceries and supplies. Jane thoroughly enjoyed the mundane chores – shopping, laundry, cooking. Lisbon bought a few creature comforts to make up for the things left in Washington. She'd move her things to Austin when she rented or bought a house.

They spent some time apart, but went out together. Lisbon refused to let the beautiful weather, anticipation of working for the FBI, and melting warmth of Jane's company lull her. She was horrified at the near-fatal attack. She had no intention of testing out Jane's conviction Blake would lie low now that he worked for the FBI. And, they had a decade plus two long, lonely years to make up for.

The movie was good. Jane shepherded Lisbon out of the theater with his hand on the small of her back.

"Chinese? Thai? Tex-Mex?"

"Take out?" He nodded. She looked at him, eyes narrowed. "And how do you know about restaurants around here?"

Smiling, "Walked all around the city last week."

They finally went with Szechuan and randomly chose her apartment for eating. Lisbon forcibly set aside the thought that Jane knew about Austin because he'd deliberately made himself a target.

Lisbon dished out the food while Jane took sodas from the refrigerator, tea kettle and tea not yet available in her apartment. With a glance, they mutually agreed to eat in the living room. Before sitting down, Lisbon locked the door, armed the security system, and put one gun next to the couch and a second on the bedroom night stand.

Returning, she dealt with his easy grin. "Don't. No denial. No making light of it. You take it seriously till we're done with Blake." She glared till he dropped the grin, swallowed and looked away.

"Okay."

Lisbon promptly plopped down on the couch next to him and attacked the food. After beating back imminent starvation, she set aside her plate, leaned back and studied him.

"Jane?"

"Mmm?"

"– Um, you're ... different."

He glanced over, amusement and curiosity plain in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"This – this is so _normal_ it's surreal. We're about to take on the leaders of a nationwide corrupt conspiracy. Shouldn't we, you know, be more _serious_?"

Jane set his plate on the sofa table, then pulled her closer and put his arm around her shoulders. He sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the couch back. Quietly, "Teresa, I've paid my dues. I spent ten years finding and," his breathing hitched, "killing Red John. It took two more to overcome my role in my family's slaughter." She opened her mouth to argue against misplaced responsibility, then decided against interrupting. "If I could change that night, god knows I would. Since I can't, I'm moving on – with you, if you'll have me. I want a normal life with as much happiness as I'm capable of. I'm going after Blake because they won't let me, let _us_ alone." He sat straighter and looked at her directly. "I won't waste another minute waiting for some perfect time to live."

He tipped his head down while cradling her face in his hands. He kissed her gently, tongue tracing her lips, then meeting and caressing hers as her lips parted. Emerald eyes dark with desire met ocean green eyes equally dark. Kisses heated and adored all skin that could be reached. They undid buttons and slid clothing off shoulders, allowing warm skin to touch warm skin, both consumed with the need to be close, closer. The imperative of breathing finally gave pause. Without speaking they rose and made their way to the bedroom, hands entwined. Crisp sheets welcomed them as they fulfilled unspoken promises over a decade in the making. Sweet and gentle gave way to urgent passion. Bodies cooled only to be enticed to repeated couplings until sleep finally claimed them.

They were home.


	14. Chapter 14 - Starting Work

**Chapter 14: Starting Work**

***** M rated material noted below.*****

**Lisbon and Jane**

Force of habit woke Lisbon early, a peaceful dawning of awareness. At last the man she wanted for years was with her - warm, present, _hers_. Despite quitting her job, moving thousands of miles, resetting her life completely, she was happier and more optimistic than she could remember.

She carefully shimmied from under his sleeping embrace to use the bathroom and brush her teeth. Mini-blind slats striped Jane with gold and dark. Sunlight glinted off mussed curls and highlighted cheekbones, strong jaw, and luxurious eyelashes. She carefully slid back into bed, gently nestling against his side. He sighed in pleasure, his hand unconsciously brushing her bare shoulder.

Her fingers delicately caressed his face, skirting the fading bruises and scrapes. She stretched up and gently kissed his cheek, grinning at the prickly beard stubble. Her hand cupped his cheek then glided down his neck to trace the broad planes of his chest, the muscled flat of his stomach. Jane shifted contentedly and an easy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, still without waking. She ghosted fingertips over his chest, taking care to avoid the bruises and healing cuts. Love mingled with fierce protectiveness washed over her. She _would_ protect him, despite his will to prevail heedless of danger.

Lisbon's glance ran over the familiar, beloved face etched by sadness but, newly, by happiness too. Unbidden memories welled up. Devastated Jane appearing at the CBI. That same man mesmerizing, commanding and irresistibly handsome a scant week later. Mocking the pompous. Catching raindrops on his tongue. White and terrifyingly still - not breathing. Soaking up sunshine. Performing in a tuxedo. Raking in chips. Pinning her with his gaze. Holding a baby. Tricking Rigsby. Smiling - some fake, some genuine, but the best for her alone. And talking. Arguing, teasing, charming, challenging, lecturing, soothing. This infuriating, interesting, brilliant, disruptive, magnificent man was hers at last.

Sheer overwhelming happiness called forth a few tears. Jane looked at her with sleepy eyes and pulled her closer.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. –Everything's finally right."

His smile was radiant. "Yes it is, my dear." Jane turned to face her, hands caressing her back as he pulled her into a kiss. He murmured, "I missed you so much."

"'Strange and sad'?" she quoted from his last letter.

"Unbearably. Couldn't be otherwise with you thousands of miles away." She buried her face against his shoulder. "And you, Teresa? How was it ... after?"

She breathed, "Bad." He hugged her closer and waited patiently. "Everything gone in an instant. You. The team. The CBI. Suspected of being Blake, blackballed by Abbott." She gazed upward, damp eyes just visible through lashes. "Minelli had to help me land a county sheriff's job." Another pause. "Worst was not knowing if I'd see you again."

He sprinkled kisses over her face, neck. "Sorry I wasn't there to help."

She frowned, expression intense. "I was glad you weren't. Blake killed several LEO's in Abbott's round up."

He whispered, eyes closed, "Then I'm glad you and the team were out of it, too."

"We're taking on Blake again. What happens after?"

Jane tipped his head. He thought a moment then said simply, "I don't know. Whatever happens will be fine so long as we're together."

***** Start of M-rated** ***

They turned to more urgent needs. One hand caressed her smooth skin as the other tangled in silky hair, holding her close as their kisses deepened. Tongues dueled then disengaged. He found exquisitely sensitive points on her face and neck. His tongue traced the delicate ridges of her ear, triggering a delicious shiver. Jane kissed his way down and buried his face between her breasts and breathed in her scent. He raised his head, lips again capturing hers as graceful fingers gently kneaded her breasts. The riches of her body laid before him, his mouth returned to her breasts. He sucked one nipple erect as he thumbed the other, then reversed, adoring each equally.

She buried both hands in his hair, holding him close, controlling and deepening their kisses. As his kisses moved south, her hands ghosted over his back, then around to his chest. Fingers brushed his nipples hard and stroked, taking care to avoid cuts and bruises. She frowned as her hands skated over the corrugation of ribs, angry anew at the abuse.

"It's okay," he said between kisses. "All over."

"Too thin. Hate why."

"I'll gain it back. -Unless you work it off me," he leered, grinning.

She scooted closer, hand drifting down and wrapping fingers around his rigid flesh. "Both. Lots of both."

His reply was lost to kissing. He only partly suppressed bucking in pleasure from her attentions. He squeezed well muscled cheeks before brushing her core from the rear. Finding her hot and wet, he shifted away enough to slide his hand between them.

Higher brain functions began to short out. "Ah - stop, stop. Can't hold out with you doing that."

"Your pleasure is mine," she whispered, breath tickling, but reluctantly released him with a fond final stroke. Her thumb ran over too-sharp pelvic bones and he wriggled and chuckled, unexpectedly ticklish.

"C'mon, Jane," she said, breathless, "Want you _now_."

He flipped her on her back and she splayed her legs, core deliciously slick and hot, engorged by arousal. He centered himself between her legs and guided himself to her entrance. She gasped in pleasure as a smooth, firm thrust filled her. They quickly found their rhythm and her hips lifted to welcome each stroke. Jane bit his lower lip to distract himself, hold back. Finally she tightened and broke around him mewling in pleasure. Her contractions gripped him, tipping him over the edge. He shuddered in ecstasy and release.

***** End of M-rated *****

Jane rolled to the side and dozed. Lisbon enjoyed the boneless contentment of being well-loved and perfectly satisfied. Some minutes later, she roused herself to go clean up. She stopped dead as she returned. It gleamed in the sunlight, resting innocently next to her Glock. She huffed in surprise then shrugged a little and climbed back in bed. They would talk when he woke. Even after his two-year absence, she wouldn't deliberately wake him when she had so long pitied his years of insomnia. She glanced at it again in wonder. _Jane _has _moved forward since Red John._ It was going to be a good day.

**The FBI**

The first week was strained. Not knowing the reason for Fischer's fall from Abbott's good graces, Cho reaped the resentment of the agents who knew Fischer - which was all of them. Cho ignored that and settled into his new role. He juggled IT analyst interviews with working the Avilard cold case. Cho, Lisbon and Jane spent an hour each morning for an interview before heading out to reexamine the crime scene and question people relevant to Avilard.

Lisbon and Jane had each other. Their determination to eventually work the Blake case largely insulated them from new job anxiety. So long as they could advance their agenda, they didn't much _care_ about fitting in, doing well, being accepted. Lisbon's desire to be respected by her peers had suffered a serious blow not only from the FBI's automatic suspicion the SCU was corrupt, but also from the bitter discovery that so many CBI "peers" had, in fact, been dirty. Jane's work life markedly improved when his couch arrived. His sleeping on the job was widely resented once the agents' sheer disbelief wore off. As expected, rumors about Jane's "number one demand" entertained the entire building. Lisbon bristled at the knee-jerk assumption they were unqualified interlopers.

They solved Avilard by Thursday.

**IT Analyst**

On Friday morning, Cho and Lisbon rose from the conference table and greeted the final IT analyst they would interview.

"Have a seat, Agent Wylie."

"Thank you, Agent Ch-"

"–Just Cho. This is Agent Lisbon–"

"–Call me Lisbon."

Cho continued, "You want the IT analyst position on my team," Cho began and then Jane strolled in with a cup and saucer in his left hand. _Fifth interview. Fifth time he's late. Why?_

Jane extended his right hand. "Patrick Jane." His smile broadened as Wylie's eyes got round and he blanched. "I see you helped track me down in South America. Small world." Jane seated himself and leaned back comfortably.

Wylie closed his mouth and sat straighter. "Um, yeah that's right."

_That's why._ Cho took lead again, "Why do you want to join my team?"

Wylie tore his gaze away from Jane. "More interesting to work cases start to finish."

Skimming his personnel folder, "Top of your class in IT and analysis. Agent two years. Convince me you're my best choice."

Wylie blinked and focused on Cho. "I _was_ best in the last four classes actually, based on Quantico statistics. I made solid contributions to every case I've worked. Two commendations from Agent Abbott. I – I tend to have a different take on things. That gives the teams more ways to solve the case."

Lisbon interjected, "How do you reconcile FBI protocols with that 'different take'?"

His 'deer in the headlights' look was tempered by stubborn determination. "FBI protocols are intended to help, not replace thinking and logic. If I think I've got something, I tell the lead agent."

Cho took over, "You imply other analysts aren't as good. But you're the least experienced of the five."

"Yes, sir. I'll get experience with time. But ability to think and willingness to stand up for a good idea are innate."

Lisbon again, "How flexible are you? Learn new skills, different ways of doing things?"

Wylie's eyes shone. "I always want to become more capable."

Cho, "What gives you the most satisfaction?"

"Getting the answer, figuring it out."

"Analysts don't have the highest profile. How's that strike you?"

"Official recognition's good. Having my team's respect is better."

"How do you spend your spare time?"

He shrugged. "Well, when I've run out of fu- uh,_ interesting_ things to do here, I do a lot of computer work at home. Also, gaming." Defensively, "Computer gaming's often the cutting edge of technology. It's a good way to see what's made it out to mass markets that may be used for crime."

Jane languidly inserted a question into the quiet. "How did you find me?"

Wylie froze.

"We're all FBI. Answer the question," Cho directed.

Wylie poured water from the carafe and gulped down a half glass. Taking a deep breath, "The FBI knew Chief Lisbon was getting letters from you–"

"How?" Lisbon interrupted.

Wylie hunched his shoulders a little in embarrassment. "The surveillance agent reported when you got a letter."

"How did he know?" she asked again, frowning.

Wylie looked away. "Your PD station officer, well, chatted with him. You were always in a good mood when you got a letter."

Lisbon controlled her anger. "The FBI searched my house for letters?"

"Yes."

Jane interjected again, "How were the letters traced to me? No postmarks."

Wylie looked up at the ceiling, huffed a little and gave it up. _Have to answer even if it kills getting the job._ "The FBI investigated you. You, uh, you didn't keep in touch with your in-laws or friends from before your family's murder. We verified your SCU team wasn't getting them. That left people from your earlier life, from the carnival."

"Hundreds are connected to the carnival." Jane tilted his head, curiosity burning bright.

"Yeah, there are. The Cannon Falls post office diverted Chief Lisbon's mail. We knew your letters weren't delivered that way." He spread his hands. "All that's left is in-person delivery. I correlated fill-ups for everyone at the carnival with gas charge cards. Thought that was a bust till I looked for fill-ups by every adult in a family. There was a perfect correlation with Pete Barsocky's family." He cleared his throat. "We intercepted one of your letters to Barsocky from Venezuela." He sighed then lifted his gaze from the conference table to Jane. Jane was smiling broadly.

"Very clever, Wylie. And that's how you found me two months ago?"

Wylie cleared his throat again. "Uh, actually it was about a year ago." Jane sat straighter, surprised.

Cho looked at Wylie. "You investigate me?"

Reluctantly. "Yes."

"And you want to work for this team. Why?"

Faintly, "Because you're interesting. And effective. You found Red John," his eyes flicked to Jane and then skittered away, "Exposed the Blake Association. And solved every case for ten years. I figure I could learn. –Except, I guess you wouldn't want me working with you now."

Cho let it hang. "I'll decide Monday. Dismissed."

Resigned, Wylie stood. "Thank you for the opportunity to interview, sir."

"–Cho," he corrected without looking up as he wrote.

Wylie left. Jane pulled his chair closer to the table. Cho looked around. "Opinions?"

"Either Johnson or Wylie."

"Jane?"

"Wylie."

Cho frowned. "Why?"

"Smart. Driven to solve the problem, find the answer. Flexible, creative. Tracking gas purchases was good work."

Warming to Jane's point of view, Lisbon added, "I can't imagine Abbott hands out commendations like candy."

They gathered their things. Jane rose, "Hire him, Cho. He'll get along with us. Plus, we can use reverse engineering." Jane exited first.

Lisbon paused when Cho put his hand on her arm. "Reverse engineering?"

She took a breath. "Not sure. –Maybe Jane means using Wylie to figure out who called the shots to get Jane out of Venezuela."

Cho nodded. "Probably."

"Who you gonna hire?"

"Decide Monday."

Then Abel Schneiderman happened.


	15. Chapter 15 - Abel Schneiderman

**Chapter 15: Abel Schneiderman**

Verbatim dialog from the "Green Thumb" episode is marked with an asterisk (*).

**The FBI, Austin**

National security hijacked the weekend.

The elevator chimed. Jane and Lisbon got off on their floor of the FBI building early Saturday morning. They paused, taking in the set-up. Part of the floor was lined with rows of chairs facing a podium and projection screen for a briefing. Unexpectedly, Kim Fischer came in from the break room and gave them a contemptuous glare as she walked by. Standing close to Jane, Lisbon was startled by the faint shudder she felt go through him at the sight of Fischer, though his expression remained pleasant. _Gotta be more to it than just detention. Find out later._

Cho was seated in the back row with a two empty chairs adjacent. Lisbon seated herself next to him. Jane stood leaning on the back of the adjacent empty chair. Several heads turned as agents from other floors got their first look at their controversial new colleagues. Lisbon saw the five IT analysts they had interviewed and thought she recognized agents from the team that dismantled the CBI two years ago. She resolutely ignored the glances and low buzz. Abbott stepped to the podium and instantly commanded attention. _Like well‑trained guard dogs,_ Jane thought, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

"We'll be assisting our New York office on this case.* Most of its agents are in the middle of another major operation." Abbott turned to the case. "This is Abel Schneiderman,"* Abbott clicked to a slide of a man in his early 30's. "He led the team that wrote the new source code to protect the Federal Reserve Banking System. Two days ago, he disappeared from his loft in Brooklyn* after leaving work early because he felt ill." Abbott put up several photos of the apartment. "No signs of struggle. Schneiderman arrived home then vanished during the two hours before his wife got home from her job."

Jane interjected, "How do we know he got home? And didn't leave after?"

"The building has key card security for the only entrance except the fire escape. The system shows Schneiderman's key card was last used to enter at 3:18 p.m. A key card is also needed to exit unless the emergency alarm is triggered, which it wasn't. Several other residents entered and exited during the two hours till his wife arrived, but no one saw Abel Schneiderman. All residents were cleared by the New York FBI. His key card, cell phone and wallet were found in their apartment." Abbott looked over the assembled agents. "We are working on the theory he was kidnapped."*

Cho said, "So either the kidnapper had a key card. Or the fire escape was used without it attracting attention." No one else challenged the implausibility of the theory.

"That is the implication," Abbott said gravely.

After an awkward silence, "Has there been a ransom demand?"* Fischer asked.

"Not yet, but we're expecting it. Well, it's either that, or they will break him for the code and launch an attack on the Federal Reserve computer system. What Abel knows could bring our banking system to its knees."*

Jane exclaimed not so quietly, "Oh, this is exciting."*

Abbott ignored him and clicked to the next slide. "Abel has a young wife ‑‑ Defiance Schneiderman." Jane broke into a broad smile. Lisbon wondered why. "Now understandably, she's emotional and believes that the FBI is not utilizing all of its resources to find her husband. And unfortunately, we can't let anyone outside the FBI know that Mr. Schneiderman's been kidnapped."* Soberly, "Otherwise, it could cripple the financial systems. The New York office sent an FBI agent posing as a psychic, but Ms. Schneiderman saw right through that."*

Jane didn't mask his amusement. "Well, of course. She's a gypsy. Woman knows a thing or two about psychics."*

"What makes you say gypsy?"*

"Well, Defiance is a gypsy name. Look at her bedroom. It's gypsy catnip. Abel there is Jewish, which means she turned her back on her entire clan to get married. Now she has a missing husband and no family for support. It's a psychic 9‑1‑1."*

"Well there we are. Let's go to work." Abbott the made assignments. The NY FBI would focus its limited resources on in-person interviews in NY. Abbott divided the remaining tasks among his agents: Further investigate the other building residents, investigate Abel Schneiderman's coworkers, and figure out the key parties - domestic and foreign - which might have the motive and means to disrupt the US financial system.

Cho, Jane and Lisbon flew to New York to talk with Ms. Schneiderman. Fischer was on the same flight to coordinate with the New York FBI office, though she sat apart from Cho's group.

**Brooklyn**

Cho was to get as much information from the reluctant Defiance Schneiderman as possible and ensure she would keep confidential her husband's disappearance. They were met by NY FBI agent Ken Raichel. Fischer waved at Raichel then left for the FBI office after asking Cho to keep her in the loop. The group made their way to Raichel's vehicle. Raichel drove and Cho rode shotgun with Lisbon and Jane in back.

Weekend traffic gave them time to talk. Jane said, "You know Fischer." It wasn't a question.

Raichel glanced back at him. "We worked in the DC area. I transferred to New York almost two years ago. She left about the same time after some family changes."

"Her father?"

Raichel straightened, a bit surprised. "Yeah. Her father retired from government service and moved to Florida. Encouraged her to move forward with her career."

Lisbon hazarded her own guess. "Fischer was close to her father, wasn't she?"

"Very." He hesitated, then continued. "I thought it was a good for there to be a little more space between them. She seems to have done well under Abbott."

"I'm new, so I don't really know," Lisbon said tactfully. She wasn't sure why Jane wanted to know about Fischer, but trusted his instincts. Jane rarely did anything without a reason.

Traffic started moving again and Raichel's attention returned to driving. He parked, ignoring the no parking zone marked in white reflective paint when they reached the building. An FBI placard would avert any parking ticket. They got out and looked up at the old, five-story building sandwiched closely between similar buildings.

"This is where the Schneidermans live. It's mostly an abandoned storage building, but there are some renters on the top floors. No security cameras."*

Cho asked, "What kind of renters?"*

"Usual fringe types‑‑ artists, dropouts. These aren't legal dwellings, but they got a hell of a view."* Raichel opened the door with the temporary key card the building superintendent had given the FBI.

Jane said, "We need to talk to his wife and see all the areas Schneiderman might have been."

"This way."* Raichel led the group into the small, battered elevator car. They got out on the fourth floor. He led them to a metal door and unlocked it when there was no response to his knock. "Mrs. Schneiderman's giving us access while we're trying to find her husband." They took a quick look around. Raichel told them about the rooftop where Abel Schneiderman also spent time and was about to lead them out of the apartment just as a young woman with long dark hair entered. The group paused.

"Hi. Mrs. Schneiderman? Defiance?"* Jane opened.

"Defiance,"* she affirmed.

"You are Romani gypsy?"*

Surprised, "What do you know about it?"*

"Carny circuit. My dad was a showman. So, Defiance–"*

"Yeah."*

"Quite the painter."* Jane motioned to abstract oil paintings hanging on the walls.

Laughing, "And who are you?"* taking in his decidedly non‑regulation‑FBI appearance.

"Patrick Jane. I was invited by the FBI. They said you need help."*

"Oh, you're a psychic."*

"So I'm told."* Unconsciously holding her breath, Lisbon exhaled in relief at Jane's answer.

Derisively, "All right. Read my palm."* Schneiderman offered her left hand.

Jane looked at her, faint amusement showing. "It only works with a dominant hand."* She switched hands.

After a moment, "No. Can't do it."*

"I knew you were a fake."*

"No, you're not letting me in. You're anxious about finding your husband, and you don't want to be read by a gorger from the government. You're feeling scared and alone."* Jane sighed. "And you don't trust strangers."* He faced her, intense gaze catching hers. "And I don't blame you. You can't trust these guys."*

"Jane."* Lisbon cautioned, worried he would take it too far, especially with Raichel there.

He continued, "I mean, they mean well, and they'll find your husband if you let them do their thing."*

"Says you."*

"Yes, says me. Why are you asking the FBI to meet your spiritual needs? Don't you have a trusted psychic of your own?"*

"I do. Cleo. But he's not answering my phone calls."*

"Hmm. That _is_ odd."*

"Can you find him? Can you find Abel?"*

"Where was the last place you saw him?"*

"On the roof, night before last."*

"What were you doing up there?"*

"Sharing a bottle of wine with my girlfriends. Abel came up there with his laptop. He likes to unwind on the roof. It's peaceful.* No one else goes up there except the super sometimes."

"I'd like to take a look at this roof,"* Jane said.

All five went up to the fifth floor. Mrs. Schneiderman waved her hand. "It's the stairs at the end of the hallway."*

The group trooped toward the stairs. Jane suddenly stopped and peered at a door. "Hi."*

Cho, "What is it?"

"Spyhole went dark."*

A security chain clattered and the door opened. An Asian man asked brusquely, "What?"*

Cho, "We're with the FBI. Sir, did you see or hear anything unusual in the last couple weeks?"*

"I already told you people, no."*

"We're with a different office."*

The man sighed with ill grace. "So many, like roaches."* He pulled back and closed the door. The deadbolt slid home with a click and the chain clattered.

Raichel, sourly, "Nice guy.* But he has been cooperating."

Lisbon offered, "His name is Nguyen Hai. He's a Vietnamese refugee. He used to run a noodle shop. Now he owns the building."*

Raichel's eyebrows rose. "Read the file?" Lisbon nodded. Raichel added, "He was home the evening of the disappearance, but didn't hear or see anything."*

Cho frowned. "Schneiderman disappeared. He either left or he didn't. Search this building?"

Raichel grimaced. "Every inch. Nothing."

The group slid the bolt aside and pushed open the door to the roof. It was an unseasonably warm fall day. They sidestepped the dirt piled waist high next to the doorway. As was typical in the city, it was a nearly flat gravel‑and‑tar roof. Rounded white pebbles reflected brilliantly in the bright sun. Several steel tables were lined with pots of various sizes and shapes, and even a long, deep trough filled with dirt. A low access hatch was covered with a hinged wooden lid covered with tar paper and secured with a padlocked hasp and loop. The gap in the low surrounding wall led to the fire escape. Steps connected the landings outside a window for each apartment. The last flight of stairs was hinged and counterbalanced. They would swing to the pavement only from the weight of a person, to keep kids or criminals from getting into the building.

After a quick look around, Jane joined Defiance Schneiderman as she looked out over the city.

"So Abel's things were in your apartment, but there was no sign of him when you got home?"

Tears welled up in her brown-black eyes. "That's right. I got home late from the bar.* Abel was gone with no sign of him."

"Was he expecting any visitors?"*

"I don't think so. He would have told me before I left."*

"This is your husband's garden?"*

"Mostly. The super sells some potted plants to the hotels and fancy buildings. -How'd you know about Abel?"

"Abel's energy's here. He pours his energy into this garden because he doesn't like being a computer programmer."*

"That's right."*

"He feels trapped in that world."*

"Yes."*

"It's an orderly world, full of rules and numbers. But it's not Abel's world. He sees himself more as a rebel soul."*

She tsked in fond memory of her husband, "He really loves that Che Guevara guy."*

"Yeah, that's why he rides a motorcycle. Grows his own vegetables. That's why he married you."*

"Oh, because I'm a gypsy?"* she asked, unsure whether to be offended.

"Yeah. Because you had the courage to walk away from centuries of tradition for love. You may not know it, but you give your husband the courage to be who he is on the inside."*

"Is Abel alive?"*

"Why don't you help me find him?"* Jane inhaled and slowly exhaled. "I can feel him."* He stretched his hands over the low wall palms out toward the city.

"Where is he?"*

"Just not getting a clear read.* I promise I will help find him. You need to keep this confidential to give us the best chance. Promise?"

She angrily swiped tears from the corners of her eyes and grabbed Jane's arm with both hands. "I promise. Just _find_ him!" Jane nodded. He was the last to leave, glancing distractedly at the dirt pile a moment before pulling the door closed.

**The FBI, Austin**

Sunday morning found the Austin agents and consultant back in the bullpen.

"Debriefing. Jenkins?" Abbott cycled through the teams working the case to bring everyone up to date. Abbott summarized, "Nothing suspicious about any co‑workers. Nothing on any building residents or the superintendent. No reported lost or stolen key cards – at least not recently." He glanced at Cho's team, "Defiance Schneiderman appears to be innocent in this and continues to cooperate." Abbott frowned. "We received a ransom note yesterday afternoon. A first‑class letter sent directly to Abel Schneiderman's office postmarked at the busiest post office in New York City." Abbott used the projector to show the note and a photo of a beat up Abel Schneiderman holding a Friday newspaper edition.

Lisbon asked bemused, "What kind of kidnapper uses snail mail?"*

Wylie spoke up, "It's smart, really. Low‑tech, old school, no electronic footprint."*

Abbott continued, "Unidentified kidnappers want ten million deposited into an overseas account by midnight, or they will sell Schneiderman to the highest bidder. Next step would be a cyber‑attack on the Federal Reserve."*

Cho asked, "You want me to notify Secret Service?"*

"Please do."* Cho rose and left. "–Fischer?"

"The New York FBI narrowed his kidnapping suspects to three extremist groups* but we haven't uncovered any solid connections to Schneiderman yet."

"See what you can learn from the note. The photo shows the New York Times, so he's presumably still in the area."

Abbott addressed the whole group again. "Unless we come up with something solid, we will pay the ransom. We need to know who's behind this. They could have gotten critical information from Schneiderman even if we do get him back. The US could be vulnerable to blackmail demands until the system can be reprogrammed - which could take months. Everyone get on with it." The agents briskly returned to their tasks.

Lisbon and Jane hung back near the podium. Lisbon floated a thought to Abbott. "Defiance Schneiderman's psychic disappeared when her husband did. Awfully coincidental."

Abbott turned to the analysts straggling away. "You, Wylie, checked out the psychic, right?"

Wylie turned back. "Cleo Ascencio, New York psychic, astrologer, healer. His record's completely clean, though."*

Lisbon mused, "Cleo Ascencio. It's such a theatrical name. You think it's real?"*

"It is. We ran his fingerprints."*

"Let me guess. Clean record?"*

"Spotless."*

Abbott lingered to follow the conversation. "What are you suggesting, Lisbon?"*

"Ascencio‑‑ it sounds Cuban. There's a scam that they do in Cuba. Brokers charge large sums of money to surgically modify fingerprints. They swap the right fingertips and the left. It fools immigration every time."*

Impressed, Wylie asked, "How do you know that?"*

"I was a police chief ... with a lot of reading time on my hands."* Wylie looked at Lisbon and gestured at her desk. "Sure, use my computer. It's already on."

Within minutes Wylie had the answer. "I did what Lisbon suggested and ran the left‑hand fingerprints for the right. It worked! Cleo Ascencio transforms into–" he clicked the mouse, "Jose Martinez."*

Abbott asked, "And who is he?"*

"A fraud. A street hustler from Havana. Made a living picking pockets until he stole a wallet from one of Castro's ministers. Now he's wanted by the PNR. He fled Cuba and set up shop here."*

"Interesting. Not sure it's important."

Jane had hovered at the periphery, distracted while vaguely tracking the conversation. Shaking his head, puzzled, "This isn't right. There are no extremist kidnappers. What am I missing?"*

Lisbon offered, "Maybe Abel faked his own kidnapping to get money to escape the country."*

"That's very good, Lisbon. That is the best theory yet, but it's wrong, too," he said slowly. "I need another look at that building."*

"Really? Back to Brooklyn?"*

"Yeah."*

They looked to Abbott. He scrutinized them with narrowed eyes. "Okay. Cho's busy with the Secret Service. You two go. Fischer's going back to work with the New York office on those extremist groups. Work together."

Lisbon waited as Jane continued wool-gathering, gaze unfocused.

Abbott growled, "Get on with it."

Lisbon grabbed Jane's arm before he could react and muttered, "C'mon, Jane. Let's go check out your hunch."

**Brooklyn**

Sunday afternoon flights between Austin and Brooklyn were blessedly uncrowded. Fischer sat near the front of the plane. Jane and Lisbon sat farther back, nearer the engines. Lisbon squelched her impulse to complain. The engine noise would give her a headache, but she wouldn't question his desire to stay away from Fischer until she had a better handle on why.

Ken Raichel picked them up at La Guardia. He had the key card and vehicle, so it made sense for him to go to Schneiderman's building with Jane. Lisbon accompanied Fischer hoping to get information about the psychic from local law enforcement. She also wasn't satisfied with what they knew about the building superintendent and owner, Nguyen Hai. NY FBI agents put Lisbon in touch with local police. She got no more information on Ascencio. And the LEO she needed to talk to about Hai was unavailable till Monday. She and Fischer were just about done for the day.

Fischer's cell rang. After answering, Fischer motioned Lisbon over and put it on speaker phone. "What do you mean, Ken?"

"Jane went up to the roof. Said he didn't need me, so I waited in the lobby. One door in or out so we couldn't miss each other. Went up to the roof and the Schneidermans' apartment, but no Jane. He call or anything?"

Lisbon shook her head. Fischer answered, "No. Sure he didn't leave somehow?"

"Well – I did hear the fire escape bang on the sidewalk, but no one was there when I looked."

Lisbon speed dialed Jane's number, which went directly to voice mail. She closed her eyes, a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Just stay there for now, Ken." Fischer hung up and turned to Giovanni, the agent on duty. "I want a BOLO on Patrick Jane." She grabbed Lisbon's cell from her hand before Lisbon could react. Fischer showed him Jane's photo. "Can you use this picture?"

"Sure. Just take a minute." He took Lisbon's phone and left for another office

Fischer turned and looked at Lisbon. "Looks like Jane escaped." She smiled thinly, "Guess your _partnership_ isn't so solid anymore."

Lisbon's hands clenched. Voice under iron control. "Let's find out what happened, _agent_. I need to get to that building."

Fischer said, "Ken reported what happened. You go right ahead. I have some calls to make."

Giovanni returned and handed Lisbon her phone. Lisbon left and hailed a taxi. She had time for a call on the ride there.

"Cho, we have a problem."


	16. Chapter 16 - Trust

**Chapter 16: Trust**

**Cho, The FBI, Austin**

Cho had left Abbott's briefing an hour ago. He finished briefing the Secret Service on the threat and returned his work phone to its charging base. _Lisbon and Jane are on their way back to Brooklyn._ He sighed, _Along with Fischer._ They didn't need his help checking out Jane's hunch, but he was uncomfortable with Fischer in the mix. Lisbon called on the way to the Austin airport to fill him in on the rest of the briefing. Regardless of the ransom note and possible involvement of extremist groups, he had a feeling Schneiderman's disappearance lay much closer to home. Jane's indifference to the extremist group idea strengthened his own gut instinct. He was turning hazy notions over in his head when he noticed someone standing by his desk.

Looking up, "Wylie, what are you doing?"*

"Waiting for you."*

"To do what?"*

"Notice me."*

Cho frowned. "Okay. What do you want?"*

"Uh, after I finished the stuff Abbott assigned, I took another look at the key card data. Thought you might be interested since your team went there."

"And?"

Eagerly, he plopped a sheaf of printouts on Cho's desk. He pointed to a highlighted section. "This is the list of key cards and the assigned users in and out from an hour before Abel Schneiderman arrived to an hour after Defiance Schneiderman came home." He shuffled the pages. "But look at the data from earlier that day. Each key card is linked to one renter. Except–" he pointed, "Defiance Schneiderman has this extra card linked to her. How come?"

Cho's eyes narrowed. "An extra card for someone else?"

"That's what I thought."

"And that someone else came in before Abel Schneiderman got there."

"And stayed. There's no exit linked to that card."

_That's one too many coincidences. _"Thanks, Wylie."

"Sure." Wylie collected his printouts and turned to leave.

"Wylie."

Wylie turned back, "Yes, Si– Cho?"

Cho showed him a photo on his cell phone. "This is a photo of the building manager and owner. Good enough to try facial recognition?

Wylie shrugged. "Maybe. –What's the name?"

"Nguyen Hai. That's 'n,' 'g,' 'u,' 'y,' 'e,' 'n,' 'h,' 'a,' 'i.' Most likely in the New York City area."

"Send it to me and I'll get on it." Wylie hesitantly smiled, "Thanks."

_For what? Taking you seriously? Agreeing?_ Cho forwarded the photo to Wylie then turned to more important things to worry about. Like Abel Schneiderman. _Longer he's missing the more likely he's been broken. Or killed._ He could stay in Austin and do computer research with ten other people. Or he could follow his gut and get back to Brooklyn. He rose to talk to Abbott. Ten minutes later he was on his way. Abbott grudgingly went along with the request. But then Abbott keenly felt the time pressure as well. Grasping at straws and hunches was worth a try since by-the-book produced zip so far.

Cho lucked out. He caught one of the handful of non-stops to New York City soon after getting to the airport. He texted Lisbon even though her cell would be turned off during her flight. Once in the air, he used the plane's on-board cell service to call Wylie in hopes facial recognition software turned something up. Not yet. Cho told Wylie he'd call periodically.

Wylie had hits three-and-a-half hours into Cho's flight. Cho impatiently brushed aside Wylie's apologies for how long it took to sharpen the photo, get permission and links to numerous law-enforcement databases, and then wade through the large Asian population of New York City and environs. There were four likely matches. Cho quickly discarded the ones that didn't seem to fit the man he'd met at the building. Former noodle shop proprietor and building owner Nguyen Hai turned out to be Tran Hieu, a former member of the vicious Green Dragons gang, motto "Born To Kill." _Just because he's been away from it for awhile doesn't mean he's changed. Beginning to get interesting._ Landing was imminent by the time Cho was done with Wylie, precluding another call. He'd call as soon as he disembarked.

As soon as he turned his cell on, he got Lisbon's voice mail: 'Cho, we have a problem.'

**Lisbon, Cho and Raichel, Brooklyn**

Lisbon buttoned her pea coat tightly in the taxi. Since she'd arrived, temperatures had dropped 20 degrees and a cutting wind heralded the cold front moving in. It occurred to her Jane had only his three-piece suit. _–Wherever the hell he is._

Cho called her back.

"Jane's missing."

"How, why?"

"I went with Fischer to check out the psychic and the building owner. Raichel went to the building with Jane. He left Jane on the roof an hour ago. Just checked the apartment and roof and no sign of him. Thinks Jane may have gone down the fire escape."

"–You try–"

"–Went to voice mail."

"What's Fischer doing?"

"Tracked his cell to a city dump, has an agent going to check. Put out BOLO for Jane."

"Okay. I'm 30 minutes away. Meet you there."

"You flew in?"

"Yeah. Lisbon, did Jane say _anything_ that'd explain why he'd leave? Hunch, anything?"

"I've been wracking my brain. Nothing. –Except when I asked what he was looking for, he said, 'Where you typically find a corpse?'"

"Damn cryptic bastard."

She muttered, "Tell me about it." Then, louder, "Cho, Fischer's BOLO says 'armed and dangerous.' He could get shot."

"Let's rule out the building first. I'll call Fischer." He added, "Start searching soon as you get there. Be careful. Nguyen Hai is an alias for Tran Hieu, former gang member."

"Cho-"

"Yeah?"

"You don't think–"

"He gave his word. I'm going with that," Cho answered curtly.

She clenched her jaw, tortured by uncertainty. "Okay."

The taxi pulled up shortly after their call. Lisbon threw some bills at the cab driver and bolted out the door, not waiting for change. Agent Raichel let her inside with the temporary key card.

"Raichel, brief me."

"Arrived at 3:20 and went up to the roof. My bronchitis was kicking up from the wind and Jane told me to wait downstairs." Lisbon didn't bother to hide her contempt for Raichel's excuse. He ignored that and plowed on. "I waited in the lobby till 4:10. Was about to check when I heard the escape ladder clang down on the sidewalk. I ducked outside and saw someone disappear around the corner. No one in sight when I got there. I came back and checked the roof and Schneiderman's apartment but no Jane. That's when I called Fischer."

"How sure are you it was Jane?"

Raichel shook his head. "Not sure at all. I saw motion. I only know it was a person, not a dog or something."

Lisbon looked around. There was no one within earshot. "My boss found out Nguyen Hai is an alias. The building owner is a former Green Dragons gang member–"

Raichel gave a low whistle.

"-Jane wouldn't duck out without a reason," she continued. _God, let that be true!_ "We need to search this place and make sure he isn't here."

Raichel nodded, face grim at his failure to stick with a fellow LEO – consultant or not, regardless of the gossip Fischer related about Jane.

"Let's start here. You take left, I'll go right. We need to keep an eye on the door, too. Then we'll go up and start on the apartments, 'kay?" Raichel nodded. They drew their weapons and split up. The ground floor was two stories high and nearly half an acre of space, but the search was quick because it was nearly empty.

Lisbon and Raichel had just returned when Lisbon's cell vibrated. Raichel let Cho into the lobby, slamming the door closed against the biting wind.

"Status?"

"Raichel and I searched this floor. About to start on the apartments."

"I need your help first, Raichel. I need a BOLO on Tran Hieu. He could be involved and may leave the US. The ransom will be deposited overseas tonight."

"Uh, my SA should–"

"I need a _favor_. Fischer's the liaison and she refuses. Can you do it on your authority?"

"Sure." Raichel felt it was the least he could do after losing track of Jane. He took out his cell and called his office. The BOLO for Tran would go out in minutes.

The three piled into the elevator. When they reached the third floor Cho pulled the emergency button to put the elevator out of service. They systematically searched each apartment. It being Sunday, many were occupied. Cho overrode any hesitation by explaining they were interested in _only_ the missing FBI agent (not worrying about accuracy). Continued resistance was quashed by advice to file a complaint. They broke down the doors of unoccupied apartments. Raichel left a card so residents could file a claim for repairs.

They finished searching the third and fourth floors and found nothing. All that was left was the apartment of Nguyen Hai alias Tran Hieu on the top floor, and, the roof. Raichel broke down the apartment door. All three rushed in, weapons drawn. Their caution was for naught because the apartment was empty. Cho swore under his breath. All that was left was the roof.

All three climbed the half-flight of stairs, slid back the bolt and stepped onto the roof. Night had fallen while they'd been searching. The wind whipped around them, quickly chafing any exposed skin. The half-moon and bright starlight let them see well enough. Weapons drawn, their backs to the stairwell enclosure for protection, they again found – nothing. Within minutes Raichel was doubled over with continuous deep, congested coughing spells. Lisbon mentally revised her opinion, realizing Raichel would have been useless had he stayed on the roof with Jane. Cho jerked his head for Raichel to step back inside the door, out of the wind.

Swearing softly, Cho looked at Lisbon, "Got any ideas?" he asked loud enough to be heard over the wind.

Lisbon didn't answer, gaze transfixed by the pile of dirt. "Cho, that's it!" Excitedly, "Where do you find a corpse? Buried in the ground. In dirt." She picked up a slender wooden stake from a pile near a small storage shed and poked it into the big, dirt-filled trough. The stick encountered something solid, but yielding. A shiver having nothing to do with the cold ran down her spine.

Grabbing a hand trowel, Cho's digging quickly exposed a black plastic bag. He used the trowel point to tear it and gagged as the smell of death rose from the bag. Lisbon grimly looked closely and sighed in relief. The clothes weren't Jane's. Or Schneiderman's.

"Cleo Ascencio, I'd guess," she said, then turned away. It wasn't a body, just the dismembered torso.

Cho tipped over another large pot. Dirt and another bag spilled out. This time it was a foot. He reached for his cell phone, but Raichel stepped out and interrupted him.

"Cho, NYPD intercepted Tran. Was trying to board a flight to Honduras. Told them to bring him here."

"Good," Cho all but shouted over the wind.

Raichel looked around, shielding his mouth with his coat collar. "Jesus. Is that what I think it is?" he said loudly, looking at the several plastic bags.

"Yeah. Ascencio," Lisbon said.

**Jane, Brooklyn, Earlier**

Raichel parked, again ignoring the 'No Parking' lettering painted with reflective white paint. He and Jane walked to Schneiderman's building and Raichel let them in with the temporary key card.

"Roof first," Jane said. They passed by the building manager-owner's apartment. Jane noted there was no one behind the spyhole this time. _Nguyen's out. Good._ Raichel slid back the bolt and they stepped onto the roof. Jane noticed that the temperature had already dropped several degrees and the wind had picked up. He looked around, particularly interested in the larger planters. Raichel started coughing deep, hacking coughs. He didn't stop.

Jane looked at him. "Raichel, wait in the lobby. You'll hack up a lung."

Between spasms, Raichel replied, "Should–" cough, "stay with you," he wheezed.

"One way in or out. Just call if you see Nguyen."

Raichel nodded, unable to muster breath to talk.

Jane opened the small supply shed. _Nothing particularly nefarious. Hand trowel, spray paint, by-pass pruners, twine, plant stakes, buckets, pesticides, fertilizers._ His eyebrows rose in surprise. _Roll of black plastic bags. _ He thought for a second, frowned and nodded, _Oh._ He picked up a thin plant stake and walked over to a big planter filled with dirt. He poked the stake into the loose ground. It easily went through the dirt down to the bottom. He tried the large trough next. He encountered something solid on his second try. Whatever it was had 'give.' It wasn't rigid like a block or piece of wood. Jane stepped back eyeing the trough - 4' by 2' by 2' deep. He closed his eyes and swallowed a mouthful of saliva, trying to keep down his lunch. After a couple of deep breaths he muttered, "Little garden of horrors," and walked to the door to leave, about 15 minutes after he had come up.

Jane pulled. Bolted. He closed his eyes visualizing Raichel leaving the roof, then swore. Raichel had _not_ bolted the door. _Crap._

Jane reached for his cell, only to realize he hadn't gotten Raichel's number. _And Lisbon's too far away!_ He shoved an empty steel workbench against the door, knowing anyone who came through wouldn't be his friend, then ran to the fire escape.

Bad news was seeing Nguyen three floors down. Worse news was the glint of gray metal in his hand. Gun.

He looked around. There was nothing he could use to counter a gun. The buildings on either side were several feet higher over a 50 foot drop. _No._

_Damn._ Jane ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed a can of spray paint, making sure it was the reflective stuff. He sprayed huge block letters on the roof, the white paint barely showing up against the white gravel. He tossed the can over the side when he finished. Hoping against hope, Jane pulled the door again. Still bolted. Still trapped.

Nguyen stepped onto the landing and then onto the roof, gun in hand. Jane couldn't tear his gaze from the black hole of the barrel. He struggled to contain his fear, to think! _No silencer, thank god._ Nguyen wouldn't want to shoot with an FBI agent downstairs. His fear eased a bit.

Nguyen smiled mirthlessly, perfectly following his thoughts. "That's right. I won't shoot unless you make me. So don't make me."

"What are you going to do?"

"Let mother nature take care of you." Brusquely, "Get over here and lie down on your belly." He threw a pair of old handcuffs by Jane's hand. "Cuff yourself. Behind your back."

When Jane finished, Nguyen got twine from the shed. He knelt on Jane's back and put a loop around one ankle, striking the bone with his gun when Jane tried to kick him in the head.

"You're gonna be tied with a concussion or without. Your choice." Finished with the rope, he forced a work rag into Jane's mouth and tied it behind his head. Nguyen stood and laughed. "Trussed up like a pig. Ironic, no?"

He walked over to the attic hatch, unlocked the padlock, and opened the lid. He then dragged Jane over the low edge and dumped him in. Jane fell heavily, unable to break his fall or even cry out. Before the cover was closed he could make out small bags of white powder. _Drugs._ The good news was that he hadn't been killed or even hurt badly. The bad news was that Nguyen didn't care about him seeing several hundred thousands worth of drugs. Nguyen didn't plan on him seeing the light of day again. His hands were already numb from the cold.

There was absolutely no chance he could free himself. He could while away the time in abject fear. Or work out the crime. Jane chose the latter.

_Nguyen was moving the drugs when Ascencio came up. Somehow he got in, no doubt to snoop and bolster her belief in his amazing psychic powers. Why the roof? More snooping, maybe drop some detail about Abel's garden. Wrong place, wrong time. Nguyen killed and dismembered him. Buried the parts in the big planters in black plastic bags. Keep the smell down. 'Deliver' the planters and – voila! – no body to find. Only Abel came home early and caught him. Somehow Nguyen knew Schneiderman was worth something. Wouldn't kill Schneiderman, at least not immediately. Huh. Schneiderman might be alive. Kept somewhere here. Nguyen's apartment? Another apartment – vacant, maybe? Geez. Dismembering. This can't be the first time. There's more to Nguyen than a noodle shop and this building. Please, Lisbon. Figure it out. Wonder if Wylie – Don't speculate! Just keep breathing, Paddy. Long shot, but they'll be looking for me. Shit! Unless they think I ran. I told Cho, promised him. And Lisbon. God, let them trust me. Ignore the past lies and deceptions. ... Please!_

Hours passed. The chill settled in his bones. His hands and feet were so numb pain didn't register. He could kill for water though. The gag absorbed his saliva and the cold, dry air robbed him of moisture as he breathed. He wondered if drugs had ever spilled, if he would inadvertently over-dose. He really, really wondered if they would find him. It almost became an abstract curiosity. He literally couldn't move, couldn't make a sound. Either they found him. In time. Or they didn't. It was completely out of his control and there was almost comfort in that. Except for the searing pain of not having those years to finally, finally openly love Lisbon – make her his. Hot tears wasted more moisture until he thought and felt nothing more.

**Lisbon, Cho and Raichel, Brooklyn**

Cho again reached for his cell phone and was startled when it rang first. "Cho. Can't hear. Wait." He ducked inside the stairwell and pulled the door to. "Go ahead."

Wylie's voice said, "I'm looking at satellite images of Schneiderman's building. Looks like spray-painted letters."

"We're on the roof. Didn't see anything."

"I'm sending you the image. Capital letters 't,' 'a,' and 'n.'" After a pause, "Looks like there's more, but it's just scattered sparkles."

"Thanks." Cho ended the call and went back outside.

Lisbon had found a flashlight in the shed and was looking around.

"Wylie says letters are spray-painted on this roof." They both frowned. "'T,' 'A,' 'N,' and maybe another one that got messed up."

"Jane! He's here somewhere."

Lisbon played the light over the roof then ran to the attic access hatch. Raichel started hacking again and Cho waved him back to the stairwell.

"Cho, the lock has new scratches. We need to open this!" She drew her gun and aimed at the lock. She motioned Cho back for safety. The trajectory would nearly parallel the rooftop, ensuring that anyone under the roof or in the building wouldn't be hit.

Suddenly, "Cho," Raichel called, "PD has Tran here."

"Go help Lisbon," he said as he sidled past Raichel.

Ears ringing from the shot Lisbon nudged the hot metal hasp off with the toe of her boot. She and Raichel pulled the heavy wooden lid open. The flashlight revealed a gray suited figure atop the joists four feet below the roof.

"Jane!"

He groaned and barely moved. He lay on his front, hands and feet hogtied behind him, mouth gagged. Movement was impossible.

"Help me get him up!" Lisbon demanded, then realized Cho would have to help.

She ran down to Nguyen-Tran's apartment. A PD officer was standing near the handcuffed man. Cho was demanding, "...us where Schneiderman is."

Tran smiled contemptuously. "I don't know anything."

"Cho, you and Raichel have to get Jane. He's unconscious and it's freezing up there."

A muscle jumped in Cho's jaw. "Keep him here," he said to the cop and strode off toward the stairs. Lisbon followed for a few yards, then thought better of it and went back.

Tran had picked the lock. He kicked the cop in the groin and ran for the elevator.

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

He didn't.

She wounded him in the left shoulder, knocking him off his feet.

Lisbon ran to him and kneed him in the back to keep him down. She cuffed his right hand and savagely pulled it back as she grabbed his left and cuffed it too.

"Get up." He moaned but didn't move till she nudged him with her boot none too gently. She herded him back to the apartment.

Cho followed on their heels. "Got it?"

Lisbon nodded. "Jane?"

"He's breathing. Think he'll be okay." Cho grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and returned to the roof.

The cop had recovered enough to stand upright as she came in with Tran. "Call an ambulance. Nguyen, Tran, whoever the hell you are, where's Schneiderman? Tell us if you want to be alive for that ambulance."

"You bitch, you cun–" The cop backhanded Tran, cutting off his tirade.

Coldly, "You're under arrest for the attempted murder of Patrick Jane. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. -You face execution if Schneiderman dies." She stepped closer and shoved his wounded left shoulder. "Tell me!"

Tran's face blazed with hate.

"Officer, I need to step out a minute. Maybe you'd like to ask him a question?" Lisbon said, looking pointedly at Tran's groin.

"You fu–" The officer shoved him back against the wall by his left shoulder.

Tran slumped. Thin-lipped with pain, eyes alight with rage, he said sullenly, "No death penalty and I'll tell you."

Lisbon stood rigid with anger. "No death penalty if Jane and Schneiderman live. Take it or leave it."

"He's in the closet."

"We searched."

"Behind the false wall, you stupid Anglos."

"Watch him." Lisbon walked farther into the apartment. It took a few minutes, but she found the closet and managed to open the hidden door.

Everything happened at once. Cho and Raichel carried a barely conscious Jane down the stairs. Lisbon untied an unconscious Schneiderman and removed the gag, relieved he was alive if beat up. The EMT's arrived with a stretcher, then called for two more at the sight of three injured men.

Cho said, "Check these two first," pointing to Jane and Schneiderman. Voice rough, "Make sure he doesn't bleed out," he nodded toward Tran.

**FBI, Austin**

Cho's team returned to Austin late Monday. Hypothermic, battered, and exhausted, Jane spent Sunday night in a trauma center with Lisbon by his side. It was quickly clear Jane and Schneiderman would recover. The NY FBI had police protection posted for Schneiderman and, at Cho's request, for Jane too. Cho spent much of his night at the FBI office. After briefing Abbott by phone, he wrote out his report with Raichel's help. The FBI got him a room at a hotel near the hospital. The three caught a flight back to Austin around noon, Monday. Jane and Lisbon went straight home. Cho met with Abbott.

Cho knocked. Abbott waved him in and Cho took a seat. They sat in silence for a minute.

"Excellent work. All three of you. And Wylie, too."

"Yes."

Abbott's eyes narrowed. "But what?"

"You said I'm not under suspicion."

"You aren't."

Cho leaned forward. "Why was Fischer allowed to refuse a reasonable request on this case?"

"Details?"

"I wanted a BOLO for Nguyen, alias Tran. She refused. Your agent should follow a reasonable request by _any_ team leader."

"She should. I will–"

"There's more."

"Go ahead."

"Fischer put out an "armed and dangerous' BOLO out for Jane. Could have been shot. Fischer also got in the way of Lisbon's work on the case."

"I used Fischer because she knows some New York agents and because _everyone_ was working the case. I will have a discussion with her about your concerns."

"Another point."

"Which is?"

"Jane could have disappeared. He didn't."

"So?"

"I want that trust extended to my team. Specifically, Jane."

"You ask a lot, Cho."

"You're getting a lot, Agent Abbott."

Abbott leaned back in his chair, a speculative gleam in his eye. "Why do you trust Jane?"

"He gave me his word."

Skeptically, "Which you believe?"

"Jane is the most devious person I know. He rarely makes promises. When he does, it means something."

"I am not convinced. Yet."

Cho drew a breath and exhaled slowly. "Until you're convinced, I need my team protected. I need reasonable requests followed."

"I agree."

"Yes, Sir."

"Cho–" Cho turned back. "Good work." Cho nodded and left.

**Lisbon and Jane**

Lisbon and Jane entered their respective apartments. Both showered and changed after the grueling weekend. Lisbon tapped on Jane's door.

"Hey," she said, entering. "I ordered Tex-Mex, including your favorites. Barbeque, cowboy caviar, cornbread."

He sank down on the couch, still tired, still vaguely cold. "Thanks. I'll pay. There's money in my wallet."

"Tea?"

"Blessed is Saint Teresa."

She flicked his arm. "You know I don't like that. 'Sides, never heard of any 'saint' having torrid sex with her unbearably handsome partner."

He chuckled, "You know they edit out the good parts."

She sighed, "Glad you're not religious."

Head back, eyes closed, he grinned. "Makes two of us."

She returned with tea for them both. Instead of sitting next to him she sat in the armchair at right angles to the couch.

Jane sipped the steaming liquid. "Mmmmm. Best medicine in the world."

Serious, "Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Not sure I'll ever be warm again."

Lisbon sighed.

"That sounds ominous.

"Jane, what am I s'posed to do with you?"

"Oh, lots of things I hope very much you – we – will keep doing."

"This is serious."

This time he sighed. He sat straighter and opened his eyes. "This has been building all day. What's the matter, Teresa?"

"What did we agree on, just last week?"

"Never again order from that dumpy Thai restaurant?"

Voice raised, "Dammit. Just last week you said you'd tell me – hell, tell me _and_ Cho – before you run off half cocked and put yourself in danger."

He took a deep breath, then winced as his bruised ribs protested. "I – I'm trying. We both went to New York. Something about that roof bothered me, but I wasn't sure–"

She abruptly stood. "I need to know long before 'sure.' You thought there was a body buried up there, made a joke about where to find a corpse. You couldn't tell Cho and me?"

He dropped his gaze and rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension. Faintly, "I could have ... mentioned it."

Her eyes flashed in anger. "So what happens next time?"

He met her gaze. "I'll try – I _will _tell you. Beforehand."

"Trust, Jane."

Remembering those hours trapped on the roof, he swallowed a lump. "Thank you for trusting me. For not thinking I ran off."

She settled in her chair, mollified. "Yeah, well, we both have to start somewhere. Jane – Patrick, I'll stick with you so long as you're really trying, so long as I see progress."

He exhaled tiredly. "I can't ask for more." She rose to answer the door for the food but he grabbed her wrist. "We _will_ make this work." Awkwardly honest, no mask, no doubt.

"I'm counting on it." She pecked him on the lips and tugged her hand loose so she could answer the door.


	17. Chapter 17 - Questions

**Chapter 17: Questions**

**Abbot and Fischer**

Dennis Abbott got to work early on Tuesday. He had to finish the report on the Schneiderman case before leaving for Philadelphia to resume work on Blake. But a meeting he _had_ to have this morning weighed most heavily. _It's more than inexperience or disappointment. What am I missing? I've run through the likely explanations. Time to consider the improbable, no matter how ugly. _

He looked up at the knock on his door and waved in the agent.

"You wanted to meet, Sir?"

"Yes, I do. Fischer, brief me on what happened in New York as you saw it."

She perched on the edge of the chair, uneasy but resolute. "After our flight got in, Agent Raichel and Jane went to Schneiderman's building so Jane could check out some theory."

_Neutral words. Not tone._

"Lisbon and I went to the FBI office. I needed to be briefed on the suspected extremist groups. Lisbon wanted more information from local LEO's about Ascencio and Nguyen."

"Did she get it?"

Fischer shrugged diffidently. "She didn't get too far with the local LEO's on either man."

Abbott's gazed unblinkingly at her. After a moment, "I'm surprised the FBI doesn't have more pull with local law enforcement."

"They didn't get involved."

"Because?"

"The SA was busy with his other operation. Didn't want to bother."

"Even after you pushed him for help with Lisbon's request?"

"Oh. –I didn't talk with him about it."

Abbott leaned back and the silence stretched over a minute. "You were the liaison. But you didn't push to get the locals to help," he stated flatly. When Fischer didn't elaborate, he moved on. "Cho wanted a BOLO put out for Nguyen, alias Tran. Did he ask you to arrange that?"

"Well, yes. I hadn't gotten to it when Agent Raichel had it put out."

"And that was how long after _Senior Agent _Cho's request?"

She swallowed convulsively. "A half hour."

"A half hour when it would take, oh, a minute to have the administrative staff effect the order. –But you did put a BOLO on Jane?"

"Yes. After he disappeared. His agreement is clear about the terms of service–"

Abbott's voice rumbled quietly, dangerously. "-I'm familiar–"

Over-wrought, she heedlessly plunged on, "And the agreement doesn't absolve him of three - probably more – murders."

"Which is why you included the 'armed and dangerous' advisory?"

"Yes!" Relief showed in her eyes.

Abbott didn't say anything for 30 seconds. "Every one of your judgment calls was wrong. _Agent _Lisbon was right about Nguyen. _Senior Agent _Cho's BOLO apprehended the perp and led to Schneiderman's rescue. Had Nguyen gotten out of the country and Schneiderman died, the Federal Reserve wouldn't know if the system was breeched. We could have been blackmailed for months. And Jane had been abducted and left to die from exposure."

Fischer's face was frozen in a neutral mask.

Abbott leaned forward, hands loosely clasped and forearms resting on his desk. Voice soft, "Your dad and I go way back, Kim. But I can't give you a pass any more. You endangered the mission. You assumed the worst about someone on our team. I cannot square this Kim Fischer with the agent I know you to be."

She licked her lips nervously, gaze dropping to a suddenly fascinating patch of carpet.

"I am _trying _to understand. You were enthusiastic about going undercover on the island. Eager to get that hundred percent close asset working for us. Ever since his detention, you've had a chip on your shoulder, not just about Jane but Cho and Lisbon, too.' He frowned, perplexed. "What changed?"

When he got no response, Abbott took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Kimmie, face me, please." She looked up. Softly, "I have to ask. Did Jane do something – attack you ... rape you?"

She paled, expression ashamed, mortified.

_Oh my God. Let it not be so!_

Fischer finally whispered, "No."

A wave of relief and confusion rolled through Abbott, "What did happen?"

Hesitantly, "I – I told Dad about Jane, about how I thought he could solve cases. He used his contacts to get the true picture. We know Jane killed. Several. And before his family's murder, he bilked vulnerable people out of millions. At the CBI he broke the law, sometimes set people up to get killed. Jane could be part of Blake. –Dad helped me see him for what he is. And if Lisbon and Cho were with him a decade, they've got to be part of it too."

Abbott drew a deep draught of air and released an equally great sigh. He stood. "C'mon. Let's both get some coffee. Then we'll talk about where we go from here."

They returned several minutes later, coffee in hand. The tension was lower, though by Fischer's expression the uncertainty was torture.

Calmly, "Agent Fischer, I am not enthusiastic about having Jane work for the FBI. I don't have the luxury of choice. Initially I shared your suspicions about Jane, Lisbon and Cho. After looking into their background for almost two years, I _know_ Cho isn't Blake. And, by God, I don't think Lisbon or Jane are either. Cho's team _solved _the Schneiderman case and they're doing good work on other cases. Regardless of my personal preferences, I will use those assets to benefit the FBI and our nation every way I can."

Quietly, "I respectfully disagree."

"And that is your prerogative. It is _not_ your prerogative to disobey orders. I am removing all discretionary judgment on your part regarding Cho and his team. If you work a case with them, you will follow reasonable requests or refer the matter to me. Immediately. Am I clear?"

Shaken, "Yes."

"Kim, you stumbled, but you have the potential to be a fine agent. It's in everyone's best interest for you to interact as little as possible with that team. Think what you want, but you _will_ treat them professionally like anyone else in the FBI. –Any questions?"

"No, Sir."

"We leave for Philly this afternoon to work on Blake. Dismissed."

**Jane and Lisbon, The FBI**

"... got rid of those ratty island clothes," Lisbon was saying as Jane held the door for her.

"They were comfortable. Everyone dressed like that," he objected half-heartedly.

"Yeah, well–"

"–Morning Agent Lisbon, Mr. Jane." It was the first time the security guard had greeted them. Jane nodded his acknowledgment.

"Good morning," Lisbon responded, surprised. She looked back over her shoulder, trying to remember if she'd had any positive interaction with that guard before. Then resuming her train of thought, "–News flash, Jane. This isn't Venezuela, or the beach. I, for one, prefer the classic Patrick Jane."

He grinned, and wiggled his eyebrows. "'Classic,' huh? Like the sound of that."

"Oh, _please_. It's just a phrase." They were ten feet away when the elevator doors started to close on the mostly full car. An agent – Jenkins? – put his hand out and held the doors. They hurried and stepped in.

"Thanks," Lisbon said. Jane just smiled.

They stepped off the elevator. They had woken late meaning Lisbon hadn't had time to make coffee or buy a cup on the way. She scowled thinking about the delay between when she would start coffee brewing and when she could be drinking her first, precious cup of liquid energy. Jane went on to the bullpen, knowing Lisbon would also put water on for his tea. His smile widened. A two-drawer filing cabinet had appeared next to his couch. It was just the right height to serve as a side table. A moment later Lisbon appeared with both coffee and tea.

"That was fast."

"Someone already made coffee. Even had water boiling for tea."

Jane took the cup and saucer and nudged Lisbon with his shoulder. She turned, then flushed as she realized everyone on the floor was looking at them. They nodded to Lisbon and Jane and then returned to their work.

"My dear," Jane said softly, "we've just been accepted into the fold," enjoying Lisbon's tiny smile of appreciation.

"Solved the case. Made Austin look good," agreed Cho who had quietly walked up behind them.

"And saved the nation from financial chaos," Jane added melodramatically. "I think that deserves a nap."

"Jane, Lisbon. Any objection to bringing Wylie aboard?"

"–Good choice," Lisbon smiled.

"-Nope." Jane set his tea on the filing cabinet and gingerly arranged himself on the couch, mindful of the bruises he'd reaped in Brooklyn.

**Wylie and Cho**

Feeling eyes upon him Cho looked up to find Wylie standing patiently next to his desk.

"Stop that."

"Sir?"

"That too. –Wylie, don't just stand there, _say something_ when you come up."

"Yes, Sir."

Cho glowered at him, then relaxed. "I asked you to come over to talk about the analyst position."

"Yes, Sir. Uh, I appreciated the chance to interview and, well, I hope I can occasionally do work for you. I mean, the Schneiderman case was fu– interesting and all," he rambled on nervously.

"Wylie, _stop!"_ With silence and order restored, Cho looked sternly at him and said, "Better be more than 'occasional.' My team delivers _all_ the time."

"Yes, Si– wait! You mean I'm going – you're hiring – I'm _on_–"

Cho took pity. "Tech position is yours if you want it."

"Yes, Sir – Cho. I'm–"

"You're babbling. Get your stuff. Take that desk," Cho pointed to one in front of Lisbon. "You'll get a raise, too."

Wylie grinned, managed a 'thank you' and left to move his things from the analyst pool downstairs. Eyes still closed, Jane smirked and said, "Now if you can just get him to stop vibrating in place..."

"Be nice, Jane. He saved your ass."

Jane yawned, "As expected," and turned to face the couch back, the better to sleep. They caught a case later that morning.

**Cho's Team, San Antonio**

It was an hour drive to the San Antonio crime scene. Cho, Lisbon and Jane put it to good use.

"Time to start work on Blake," Jane announced, riding shotgun next to Cho.

"What do you have in mind, Jane?" Lisbon asked from the rear seat. Cho enjoyed the perk of driving. Jane fussed about his long legs cramping when he was stuck in the back until Lisbon let him claim the passenger seat. She really didn't mind, rather enjoying all physical aspects of Jane these days.

"We've settled in and the Bureau is getting used to us," he said, grinning smugly as he recalled predicting the FBI would adapt to _him._

Cho read that thought and gave him a dirty look. "Don't flatter yourself. It's because we solved Schneiderman."

Even more smug, "Precisely!" Cho snorted. "As I was saying, work has settled down and we've reminded them how valuable we are. Time to test Abbott."

"Verify he's not part of Blake," clarified Lisbon.

"How?" asked Cho.

"Set a trap. Before McAllister - died, I figured out a member of Blake's upper echelons. One Abbott hasn't found yet, according to his list of Blake members." Cho and Lisbon looked at him waiting for him to continue. "It's Judge Davenport in Sacramento." They both recalled the easy-going judge who, confusingly enough, never seemed happy with the SCU's cases.

"You're absolutely sure?" Lisbon pressed, always concerned without tangible evidence.

"Don't be insulting."

Cho sighed and tuned out. _Forgot about the bickering. All that's missing is Rigsby with his tapeworm and endless mooning over Grace. My life would be complete._ "So?" he wrenched them back on topic.

"We _accidentally_ drop the name and Blake connection. See what Abbott does. Simple. Then decrypt Bertram's thumb drive."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. _I'll believe 'simple' when it works._

The San Antonio case wrapped up quickly when Jane observed that it had to be an accidental death unless the murderer was shorter than four feet. Blindingly obvious once he pointed it out, no one but Jane had seen it. On Wednesday the ME's autopsy confirmed Jane's conclusion, ending the case. Lisbon and Cho wrote it up and caught up on paperwork while Jane caught up on sleep.

Jane was at loose ends most of Thursday, meaning Cho, Lisbon and Wylie were constantly interrupted. Even though Wylie's assortment of neat oddities on his desk – not to mention the biggest oddity of all, Wylie himself – occupied Jane for awhile, Cho was reaching the end of his rope by mid-afternoon. When Jane ambled over to start his second round of pestering, Cho welcomed Jane's offhanded suggestion.

"Comp time for working the weekend?" Jane floated the idea leaning over Cho's desk.

Lisbon turned in her seat. "Since when does law-enforcement work a 40-hour week, much less get comp time?"

Cho was more direct, "Who _are_ you?"

Sunnily, "Never too late for a good idea."

Annoyed, "Fine. All of you have tomorrow off. Start now."

Jane grinned and turned to Lisbon. "I believe boss man said we can leave."

Cho growled. "You - _go!_ Optional for them."

Jane mock saluted and shepherded Lisbon out the door. The last Cho heard was "I haven't been to a carnival in years. How about we go tomorr..."

**Lisbon and Jane, Houston**

Lisbon stifled a yawn, wondering how Jane had talked her into getting up early on a day off to drive two hours to a carnival in Houston. She glanced at Jane. _He's really happy we're going. And it _has_ been a decade since I took Annabeth when she was little. Well what the hell? Join the FBI and live a little. If anyone can be fun at a carnival, Jane's it._

"Huh? What did you say?" she asked, belatedly registering his query. She looked over, meeting that piercing gaze that used to make her uncomfortable.

He nibbled his bottom lip. "You've been hiding something since New York. What about all that honesty and openness we're supposed to practice?"

"What makes you think–"

He rolled his eyes, "_Please_, Lisbon. Skip the ineffectual denial and tell me."

She grimaced then gave in. _Why do I bother anymore?_ She wasn't eager to open that can of worms, knowing it might suck the enjoyment from their outing. But having no choice, she said, "Fischer was supposed to be liaison with the New York FBI. She didn't lift a finger to help."

"What else?"

"She wouldn't issue a BOLO on Tran when Cho asked, but had time to put one out on you." _Hope that's enough so he'll drop it._

"Okay." He tilted his head as her micro-expressions indicated there was more to be explored. "There's something more about me. What?"

Lisbon sighed. "She wasn't just trying to find you. It included the 'armed and dangerous' advisory. You could have been shot-"

"Only if I ran," he emphasized. Jane turned the new bit of information over in his head, then smiled a few moments later as the new factoid fit nicely into a theory he was building about Fischer.

Glancing at him, "You think it means something – beyond not liking you."

He tipped his head diffidently. "Maybe." Lisbon knew she wouldn't get more out of him but decided to let it slide since this could help with her question.

Fifteen minutes later they stopped for coffee and soda. –Jane preferred the caffeinated, sugary stuff to bad tea when they were traveling. Jane was pleased when Lisbon agreed to let him drive. He was surprised because it was her personal SUV, but he attributed it to the outing. She enjoyed these bits of normal life almost as much as he did. On the road again, he settled into the driver's seat, content to look forward to a pleasant day with the woman he loved.

"What's special about Fischer?"

He was startled from his thoughts. "Oh, she's a female in a male-dominated profession. She–"

"Cut the crap. Why does she bother _you_ so much?"

"Who says she does?"

Lisbon grinned and said, "What about all that honesty and openness we're s'posed to practice?"

He made a face. _Nailed with my own words. _"To what do you refer? Precisely?"

Lisbon sobered. "You shuddered when Fisher walked into the bullpen last week. There's something about her that really bothers you. What's going on?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, she let a drug dealer's thugs beat me up in Venezuela, after we had dinner and danced. ... Lied." He glanced at Lisbon, but that was clearly not enough. "Was pretty much a bitch about the terms of detention. Of course she bothers me."

Lisbon mentally rolled those thoughts around for a moment, then looked searchingly at Jane. "You didn't like any of that. But that's not all, not enough." Quietly, "What else, Jane?"

He sighed and slumped in the driver's seat, his buoyant mood evaporating. Eyes on the ribbon of highway ahead, he muttered, "It's a long story."

"We have time. Let me help."

He looked over and couldn't resist the deep pools of green eyes or the sympathetic expression. _We're going to be in the FBI awhile. Lisbon needs to know what we're dealing with._ Neutrally, "Carnivals are the definition of nomadic. People float in, travel with the show awhile, leave. And not everyone who attends is interested in the ... formal attractions."

"Go on," she said encouragingly. _Talking in riddles. I should be picking up on something, but what?_

"When I was a kid, I attracted attention for more than the Boy Wonder act."

Cautiously, "Like what?"

He suddenly reached for his soda and took a sip, eyes not leaving the road, intentionally avoiding her eyes. He puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. "Like pedophiles. Men, mostly."

She swallowed, suddenly nauseous. "Um, you–"

He hurried to reassure her. "No, thank god. Pete caught guys more than once who showed a little too much interest. Beat the crap out of them and kicked them out." Then, coldly, "My father also kept them away."

_He must have looked like an angel as a kid. Pretty angelic now... _She muttered, "At least he did something good."

Jane barked a laugh filled with pain. "He was protecting his meal ticket. Was afraid I'd be too messed up to perform if someone got to me."

Lisbon carefully kept pity out of her expression. Almost afraid to ask, "And how does that connect to the present?"

"Nothing terrible, Lisbon. I – I told you so you'd understand. Why I hate being vulnerable. Exploited. Why I swore I'd protect people I care about. And myself."

Lisbon's memory served up images and moments. Jane promising he'd always save her. His devastation at failing his family, at – in his eyes – causing their murders. Insisting she trust him. Helping Rigsby avenge his father. And Cho with his friend's murder. Hesitantly, "And you _were_ vulnerable in that detention cell. No oversight, no one to rein her in."

"Yeah. Uh, you know most of how it was." He rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension. "A couple times after I was drugged my clothes were messed up." He rushed on before Lisbon could say anything. "Just my shirt. But, even _that_ makes my skin crawl."

Lisbon gathered the courage to say it aloud. "You think Fischer tried to seduce you while you were drugged?"

Almost too soft to hear, "Yeah."

Quietly furious, "That's assault. Worse because she couldn't even pretend you consented. We–" She flashed back to Fischer's comment when Raichel called to say Jane was missing. _Makes sense now. Warped, abusive bitch._

Jane put his fingers lightly over her lips. "Shhh. It's in the past now."

Lisbon clamped down on her outrage. _What will help Jane? How does he want to handle it?_ More calmly, "What do you want to do?" She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"Nothing."

A deep breath helped hold her temper. Tersely, "Why?"

"There's more to this than a twisted agent. I don't want to interact with her. But I want to watch her until I know how she fits in." He shrugged. "If she fits at all."

"How should I act? Shouldn't we tell Cho?"

He shook his head. "Just act normal. We'll tell Cho if I find there's more to it."

Conscience suddenly getting to her. "But if she's abusive, she shouldn't be–"

He interrupted, "-I think it's specific to me. Teresa, I don't think she's going to abuse anyone."

"Else," Lisbon added under her breath.

They rode in silence till they reached Houston. By then their mood had lightened again, cheered by the bright sunny day and prospect of fun.

"Hey," Jane chirped when they reached the city limits, "let's eat before the carnival. Better food, better prices."

"Don't fancy those 20 dollar hotdogs, huh?"

"Only when I'm getting the money."

They found a chain restaurant they both liked and stopped for an early lunch. Not being a morning person, Lisbon had only grabbed a piece of fruit when they left in lieu of breakfast.

Waiting for their food, Lisbon mused, "I always thought carnivals were pretty much over by October."

"Up north it's too cold by late October. Houston's temps are in the 80's during the day and mid-50's at night. Perfectly fine for the carnival to have its southern leg this time of year."

Lisbon idly perused the dessert menu, until something snagged her attention. "Wait. Jane, you said _the_ carnival."

"So?"

"Not 'a' carnival, or 'some' carnivals, but '_the'_ carnival." She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "This isn't just some random one, it's yours, isn't it?"

He cleared his throat. "And if it is?"

"Stop answering questions with a question! That's why you wanted to come today, isn't it?"

He looked equal measures guilty and mischievous. "Yeah, I have ulterior motives."

"Will Sam and Pete be here?"

"Yes."

She leaned back, examining him closely. "And you'll get–"

He talked over her, "Yeah, but nothing worth mentioning," with a meaningful glance thrown in.

Lisbon gave a slight nod. "Okay. Um, I need to call Cho."

"Cho?" he said, slightly alarmed. "Why?"

Voice lowered. "This is part of that keeping everyone informed, remember? As I recall, you may still be a target. And we're here to take that first step we talked about, right?" She avoided saying anything that would be damaging if overheard by – by whomever.

**The Carnival**

Lisbon had a great time at the carnival. The carnival was a deluxe Ruskin operation, complete with numerous scary rides as well as the iconic games and shows and food. It turned out she and Jane both loved coasters and rode them till they sported new bruises from hairpin turns and near vertical drops. Jane bet her that he would win a prize at every game in the place, including the air rifles. She thought she'd be the better shot but only managed a tie. Jane was at the elephant enclosure at 5 p.m. and was met by Pete. Jane palmed the small object Pete 'forgot' on the railing. He would have liked to visit, but this wasn't a social occasion after all.

They left the carnival at 8 p.m., mindful of the two hour ride home. Before starting the drive, they sat and talked in the twilight while sitting on a bench. Jane showed her the thumb drive he'd gotten from Pete. Lisbon thought it looked different from what she remembered and learned she was right. At Jane's request, Pete had duplicated it at a copy shop. Jane got the copy. Pete would deliver the original to Van Pelt in two weeks when they got to California for winter layover.

_Corruption. Secrecy. Danger. Like old times_, Lisbon thought. She looked at the handsome, relaxed man at her side._ With Jane, we can do anything. McAllister started it but, by God, we'll finish it. _Lisbon felt the old surge of adrenaline and excitement. She was tackling important cases with Jane. _Doesn't get better than this._

They got home before midnight. Even though they were tired after the long day, after a shower there was still time enough for love.


	18. Chapter 18 - Moving Target

**Chapter 18: Moving Target**

**Austin FBI, Thursday**

"Boss?"

Abbott beckoned Cho to enter and sit. "Nailed Jose Oretga's gang for those bad drugs that killed thirteen. Put them out of business. Not bad." Cho nodded his acknowledgment but didn't say anything, "There a problem?"

"No."

Puzzled, Abbott scrutinized him then let it go. "Good job. Pass it along to your team. Get me the paperwork by Friday."

"Yes, sir."

Cho returned to the bullpen and his paperwork. He was surprised rime hadn't formed on Jane's couch from the chill emanating from Lisbon.

Rules forbidding relationships between agents didn't apply to consultants. The rationale? Consultants didn't face danger in the field, so personal attachments wouldn't jeopardize field operations. _Wrong on both counts._ Had that rule applied, Cho would have sought a waiver since Lisbon's tempering influence was the only way Patrick Jane could work for the FBI. That didn't make it good. He and Lisbon had both approved Jane's plan on the case: Jane would wheedle information by cozying up to Ortega's sister. It wasn't easy for Lisbon to watch Jane charming the beautiful woman. The final straw was Jane's unannounced initiative to get her on tape – leverage to either strong-arm testimony against her brother, or to get the brother to confess. Cho wasn't surprised they came in separately after last night's near fiasco. _Abbott sees the closed case. Doesn't know the near disaster._

Cho finished his case report that afternoon. He rose. "Lisbon. Jane. Conference room." Wylie watched them, slightly disappointed at being left out. Cho closed the blinds in the "fishbowl" and the three seated themselves, each on a different side of the table.

"Abbott said, 'Good job.'"

Lisbon looked pleased, Jane, bored.

"I disagree." They looked up, surprised and curious respectively. "Jane, you took a stupid risk going after her alone."

Jane shrugged diffidently. "Worked."

Lisbon bristled and frowned. Cho interrupted before she could get a word out. _Don't need more tension between them._ "Deal is no hiding things."

"You blessed the plan. Only way I could get her to talk."

Cho didn't dignify Jane's deflection with a response. The plan hadn't included Jane cornering her sans backup. "Second time you flew solo and almost got killed. Abide by what _you_ agreed. _You_ chose to return. _You_ want to hunt Blake. Solo doesn't work."

Jane looked away, face perfectly neutral.

Cho sat back and waited.

It took a minute for Jane to meet his gaze. He muttered, "Okay," still not looking at Lisbon.

Cho nodded. Any concession from Jane was a victory; pushing it would undermine what he'd gained. Jane rose, followed by Lisbon. "Lisbon." Jane looked back. "Just Lisbon." Jane closed the door and walked away, neutral mask in place. Lisbon reseated herself.

"Boss?"

_How long till I'm used to 'boss'?_ Cho broached the second awkward, necessary conversation."I'll ride herd, but you have the real influence with Jane."

She grimaced. "Doesn't feel like it."

Cho leaned forward. "True anyhow."

"Your point?"

"Irritated by Jane's stunt?"

Firmly, "Yes."

"That all?" She frowned and straightened. Cho continued. "Jane was _undercover_ dating her."

Eyes narrowed, "I know that," she said curtly.

"Knowing isn't feeling." His tone softened. "You and Jane have to pull together for this to work."

Lisbon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, slumping in her chair. "Okay. Maybe personal feelings bled into the case." She looked up. "We'll work it out, Cho."

"Good."

Already thinking of how to fix it Lisbon asked, "Closed case pizza tonight?"

"Sure."

"I'll tell Wylie and Jane."

That evening, a few hours of light conversation and a couple bottles of beer washed away the residual tension in the team.

A half hour after getting home Jane was only slightly surprised by the knock at his door.

"Hoped you'd come over." He welcomed her with a quick kiss.

"You could knock on my door, y'know."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as they walked to the couch. "You might consider that presumptuous. Better for my nose this way."

She mock frowned. "Geez, will I never live that down? Long ago and only the one time."

He pulled her close on the couch. "Let's make some _pleasant_ memories." He sprinkled kisses on her cheek and neck. Softly, "Are we okay?"

Amid her return kisses, "Share your plans, Jane. Let Cho and me handle the take-downs."

He looked away then back, face open and sincere. "Trying. Hard habit to break."

"I'm sorry I was out of sorts about her. I know you were undercover."

"One-hundred percent work. - Can I interest _you_ in a little undercover action?"

"Thought you'd never ask." She tugged him to his feet.

**Jane's Apartment, Sunday**

Jane, Lisbon and Cho sat around the table, listening to the burner phone set to speaker.

"Computer's set up and software loaded. –Sorry it cost so much, Jane."

"The money's fine, Grace. It's worth having a dedicated computer to decrypt Bertram's thumb drive, one not connected to anything else."

Rigsby spoke. Soft baby sounds in the background suggested he was holding their youngest. "Got the drive from Pete. You really think Blake's monitoring us?"

Cho responded, "Someone tried to kill Jane. Safe assumption."

Lisbon asked, "Grace, any way to tell how hard it'll be?"

"No idea, but knowing some names on the list will help," she answered, resolutely optimistic as always. "I got every encryption product commercially available when Bertram created the file. I'll start this week."

**Austin FBI, Monday**

Abbott's ears perked up as he walked toward the break room.

"...really think Judge Davenport was Blake?"

"Almost certain. He was close buddies with Bertra–" Jane broke off and greeted Abbott as he entered. "–Abbott."

"Jane. Lisbon." He moved to pour himself coffee. "Good work on that bad drug case."

Still wary, Lisbon responded coolly, "Thank you." Jane just nodded.

They exited, leaving Abbott staring speculatively at where they disappeared through the doorway.

Cho looked up as his two team members entered the bullpen. Quietly, "Drop the name?" Jane nodded. "He bite?"

He shrugged. "We'll know soon."

Abbott, Fischer, and other agents assigned to Blake left for California the next day.

**Abbott's Team, Sacramento, CA, Tuesday**

Miriam Davenport stood wringing her hands as FBI agents invaded her home.

"Clear–" came a shout from the basement.

"Agent Abbott, what on earth is going on? This–"

"Clear upstairs–"

"–must be some mistak–"

"Nothing in the house, sir," a tall late-20's agent addressed Abbott, speaking over her.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Davenport." Abbott turned to his subordinate. "Search the grounds. Not likely, but let's put it to rest."

Anger replaced confusion and the woman planted herself in front of the burly, dark man. "Agent Abbott, I demand to know what the _hell_ you think you're doing. My husband has been a judge for 20 years. Can't you straighten this out with him?"

Abbott turned to her, response cool but not unkind. "Mrs. Davenport, we want to do just that. We would like to question your husband about the case we're working on."

She snapped, "Simple enough if you'd just call him at court!"

"You expected him there?"

"Of course. Court is in session today."

"Judge Davenport didn't arrive at work today. Do you have an idea of why that might be, or where else he might have gone?"

She visibly wilted. "Uh," swallowing, "no. He's – he's very reliable. Responsible. Oh my God!" She grabbed Abbott's arm. "Maybe he was kidnapped. All those criminals he's put away."

"Ma'am, I need help in finding your husband. The sooner we find him, the sooner this can be sorted out." He took her arm and led her to the couch in the formal sitting room.

In six hours, Abbott's team tracked down every suggestion as to Davenport's location to a dead end. The BOLO had turned up nothing. The Honorable Harold Percy Davenport was gone along with $50,000 in cash. In Austin, IT analyst Hastings researched their finances, uncovering a series of large, unexplainable deposits stretching back over a decade. Miriam Davenport confirmed her husband had been close friends with confirmed Blake member Gale Bertram. She had been shocked at the news two years ago and thought her husband was equally surprised and appalled. This was deja vu, only infinitely closer to home.

The Austin FBI team made its weary way to a hotel located in a business park on the outskirts of Sacramento. Abbott had Fischer arrange for lodgings when it became clear they would be spending the night. Though modern and attractive, the area was virtually deserted after business hours with few restaurants or amenities for his out-of-town team. He sourly wondered why she chose this out-of-the-way location. The team reluctantly dined at the mediocre hotel restaurant and turned in early for lack of any nearby diversions.

At just after midnight their tech analyst called Abbott from Austin.

Blinking sleep away, "Abbott. ... You what?" He sat up and paid closer attention. "Start from the top, Hastings. ... Kim had you monitor all calls from this area after we got here. And? ... The call to the other burner phone mentioned Davenport? ... Give me that information."

With the assistance of the Sacramento FBI office, Abbott woke his team and had them wait in the lobby while Gabe Mancini's agents searched their rooms for the burner phone.

**Bullpen, Austin, TX, Wednesday**

Nervous but eager, Wylie intercepted Cho before he made it to his desk.

"Cho, did you hear?"

"Slow down. What?"

"Abbott's team went to Sacramento to question a judge about Blake. He was gone, tipped off. Agent Fischer had Hastings –"

"IT analyst?"

"–Yeah. She had Hastings monitor all burner phones in the area through the NSA. –Only worked because it was an isolated area, not much phone traffic after hours. Turns out Agent Waller called another burner phone with information about Davenport."

Cho frowned. "Mole?"

"Arrested. Being brought back for questioning."

"Thanks, Wylie."

**Jane's Apartment, Sunday Night**

Cho shoved the empty carton from Chinese takeout away and leaned back. He started to speak then thought better of it. He jotted a note. _Bugs?_

"Jane and I sweep our apartments daily. Clean."

"Been a week. Where do we stand?"

Instead of answering, Jane suggested, "Let's see how Grace is doing with Bertram's drive."

Cho pulled out his burner phone. "Hey, Rigs. You and Grace got a minute?" He put it on speaker and set it on the table.

"Yo, Cho. Grace is putting Taylor down for a nap, be here in a minute."

"You're on speaker with all of us." Killing time till Van Pelt joined the call, "What's new?"

"Nada. Grace has been – hey, Babe. It's Cho and friends."

"Hi, guys."

"Tell 'em about Bertram's drive."

Soberly, "I ran the file through each encryption program. Nothing. I ran it through all six programs sequentially." She took a deep breath. "Got one name decoded, Alexa Shultz, who we already know was Blake. Looks like every name – I assume each entry is a name – was separately encrypted using more than one program, and then put into a single file."

"Meaning?" Lisbon said encouragingly.

"Meaning I don't know. Getting the one suggests what he did. There are thousands of combinations of the six programs. I don't even know if I have every program he used. Worse, the encryption could be tied to an external variable, such as the date. Bertram had help."

Soothingly, Jane asked, "What do you suggest?"

"I've set up a program to grind through the combinations, but it will be slow. No guarantees it'll work."

Lisbon asked slowly, "What might help?"

"FBI probably has better resources. Don't know if Bertram used non-commercial programs."

Jane interjected smoothly, "Appreciate your efforts, Grace. It's promising your approach decrypted one." He looked around, "Anything more, Cho? Lisbon?"

Cho spoke up. "Watch your back. Abbott uncovered a Blake mole. They're still organized somehow-"

Lisbon added, "–And dangerous if Blake learns you have Bertram's list."

"Will do," Rigsby responded seriously. At the sound of a baby crying, "–Gotta go." The five voiced their farewells and disconnected.

The three sat silently mulling the information.

Used to keeping projects moving from years of managing Lisbon summarized, "So no list of Blake leaders anytime soon. Jane, what do you conclude from the Davenport lead? What next?"

Tapping his lip, gaze unfocused, "Cloudy with fog moving in." Jane looked up, feeling their eyes on him. The days of getting away with cryptic comments were over. He got more tea to stall. "Hoped Davenport would be definitive. Finding a mole explains his escape, so can't conclude Abbott's with Blake. Doesn't tell us he isn't, either. -I need to read Abbott while talking about Davenport and Blake. And can we get more help to work on that file?"

Cho spoke up. "Let's meet with Abbott and ask to work on Blake."

Lisbon smiled, "Bold." She added, "We need to involve Wylie – at least for the decryption."

Cho left after they'd agreed on their next steps.

Lisbon sipped her coffee and joined Jane by curling up on the couch. "You're brooding. What's up?"

"Not brooding," he answered, gaze unfocused, forehead creased. "Just don't see how it fits together yet."

"Y-e-s?" she drawled, encouraging him to continue.

"After two years, Blake is still out there, still organized. How's it function without the foot soldiers, those with the tattoo? Who took over after McAllister, where's its money coming from? ... Feels like I'm missing something obvious."

"Can I help? – I'll think about it too, but anything we can hash out?"

He shook his head slowly, perplexed and distant. "Not yet. Too amorphous."

"Then how about a break? Movie, maybe?" Lisbon's hand stroked his cheek, intent upon keeping Jane connected to normal life – to her.

He glanced at her with a grin. He draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer. "If you think you're going to distract me ..." he said, nuzzling her hair and dropping little kisses on her cheek, neck, mouth, "you're absolutely right."

She bent her left leg shifting to face him. "Hey," she breathed between kisses, "you doing all right? You didn't sleep after we got Ortega."

"Because," he said as he savored her lips, eyes closed, "we slept apart." He whispered, "Two years apart, too many years we couldn't be together."

Her fingers trailed through his hair. Her other hand stroked the planes of his chest. She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. "Together now. C'mon, let's get comfortable."

A while later they lay sated and relaxed in the dark, nearly dozing. She lay draped against his left side, one leg between his.

Drowsy, she ventured, "Are you ... happy?"

"Very. I've wanted you a long, long time. And now we're together."

"Is this what you want to be doing?"

He cracked his eyes open, taking in her silhouette in the dim light. "At the moment." He kissed the top of her head. "I don't want to take on gigantic conspiracies forever, if that's your question."

"And you _do_ want...?" she whispered.

"You. Normal life, with interesting things to think about. To do." She thought he'd drifted off till he added, "If it's what you want, maybe a family."

She shifted uncomfortably, "I – I don't know–"

"Shhh," he touched his finger to her lips. "Something to think about, not worry over. Anything we do has to work for us both, love. We'll figure it out together."

She relaxed and nestled against him again. "'Kay," she breathed contentedly.


	19. Chapter 19 - Working the System

**Chapter 19: Working The System**

A/N: Asterisk (*) indicates verbatim quotations from The Golden Hammer episode.

**Abbott's Office, Austin**

Abbott looked at his watch as Cho and Jane entered for an ad hoc meeting. "Gentlemen, I have a conference call with Director Schultz in half an hour. You have ten minutes. What do you need?"

Jane slid his chair back a little to better observe while Cho spoke. "Davenport escaped and Fischer exposed a mole last week on Blake."

"How is that your concern?"

"Our team uncovered Blake. Want to finish what we started."

Abbott's eyes narrowed. "You're a good agent, Cho. You've begun to make your mark. But after the mess in California, best you all stay far away from Blake."

Jane leaned forward, entering the conversation. "Why?"

Abbott's glanced at Jane, perceptibly colder. "_You_ are here because I don't have a choice. You don't fit in the FBI and I don't trust you. You're the _last_ person I want on Blake." Looking back at Cho, "Request denied."

Jane persisted. "You heard about Davenport from us. Yet – he got away."

Abbott visibly restrained himself at the thinly veiled implication. Tightly, "We're done. Leave." He turned and reached for files needed for his conference call.

They rose and exited.

**Cho, Lisbon and Jane, Dinner**

Lisbon sipped her water as Cho finished describing the meeting. "So you got nothin' from Abbott."

Jane tilted his head. "Au contraire." Chewing a bite, she raised her eyebrows in lieu of speaking. "Really. Abbott now knows we want in. He can't help but think about our request–"

"–To _reject_ it."

Smoothly, "–until we change his mind. Trust m–" he swallowed the wrong way as Lisbon whapped him none too gently as he trotted out her least favorite phrase. She thumped him on the back.

"Better have more than that, Wonderboy."

Cho wrenched the conversation back to relevance from their bickering. "Conclusions? What next?"

Jane cleared his throat and leaned forward, serious. "I all but accused him of being dirty. Genuine anger. No guilt, no hint he's involved with Blake. That's a big plus."

"Because?" Lisbon asked.

"We need the FBI. Abbott has the case, has credibility, and is high enough to get access to whomever we need when we ID Blake leaders."

Pointedly, "Except for the little matter of Abbott's cooperation."

"Which is our next task. We recruit Wylie to help decrypt names. When he or Grace comes up with the next one, we feed it to Abbott. After a few good leads he'll reconsider."

Pessimistically, "Or think we're withholding evidence – which we are," Lisbon countered.

Jane shook his head. "Abbott's practical. Easier to work with us than go after us. After the detention debacle we can end his career at will."

Looking down, Lisbon muttered, "Yeah, and the FBI charges you with murder."

Cho switched topics. "Wylie won't violate his oath no matter how much he likes us."

"Won't ask him to. Approach him tomorrow over lunch. All of us."

Meanwhile, they had just gotten a case. Charles Whitaker, employee of a company doing sensitive military work, was murdered and they needed to find the murderer stat.

**Cho's Team, Dinner**

The week unspooled quickly as the team worked through the Whitaker murder. Abbott dealt with them as little as possible, though he had to arrange special security clearance for Jane to work the case. Thanks to doodles on the victim's newspaper, the case finally yielded its secrets. The team devised a trap for the murderer for the morrow. Cho suggested a team lunch during the lull.

Wylie hungrily scanned the menu, surprised at Cho's choice. The quiet, secluded restaurant was a few steps up from the usual burger and pizza joints LE favored. They ordered, then sat companionably sipping their soft drinks waiting for their food. Cho drew breath to speak but leaned back when Jane caught his eye. _What was that?_ The near symbiotic connection between his teammates was disconcerting. _How long till I'm that connected with–_

"Wylie, you figured out I was in Venezuela, right?" Jane interrupted the young man's reflections.

"From gas card purchases." Punctiliously, "Um, other agents actually intercepted the letters."

"You said that was about a year ago. When _exactly_?"

Wylie scratched his cheek. After a moment, "Mid-July, around the 10th."

Sharply, "_Mid_ July, not later in the month?"

"Mid. I'm sure 'cause I entered a hacker competition just after." Jane nodded thoughtfully.

Lisbon picked up the conversation, tone easy and friendly. "You've worked a few cases with us, now. Is it what you expected?"

"Oh, yeah! Working cases start to finish is great, plus working with the same people."

Jane again. "You did some work on Blake..."

Wylie shrugged in remembered disappointment, "Was interested, but Abbott chose Hastings as the dedicated analyst."

Cho's gaze swept Jane and Lisbon before focusing on Wylie. "We want to work Blake. Abbott refused."

Puzzled, Wylie looked around, realizing he'd been the focus of conversation so far. "That's too bad?" he said uncertainly.

Cho leaned forward, deliberately softening his interrogation mode. "It is. We want to finish what we start, have insight into California and Blake." Wylie sat quietly, curious but wary.

Lisbon said gently, "Jason, we're going to poke around on our own. Want to help?"

Creases suddenly appeared, apprehension fighting desire. "Uh, how's that work ... if Abbott refused?"

Deliberately vague, "We need IT help for something we suspect is connected to Blake."

Wylie straightened and leaned back. "Evidence should be turned over to Abbott," he said resolutely.

Soothingly, Jane replied, "That's just it. We have suspicions, but don't know. We won't know without decrypting a file."

"You want me to decrypt it. What then?"

Cho answered. "We _think_ it's a list of Blake leaders. If we're right, we'll give it to Abbott. Leverage that'll let us work Blake."

Wylie began to shake his head, stricken that this might cost him his position or at least the good graces of his team. "I – I'm sorry, but–"

Jane interrupted. "Jason, if Abbott got the file, what would happen?"

Diverted from his bleak thoughts, "Abbott would have IT decrypt it."

"Anyone in IT better than you?"

He flushed but said defiantly, "No."

"Then how's this different?"

"You're not giving it to Abbott."

"We'll give it to you, you'll control it. All we ask is you give us the names too."

Wylie looked uncertain. Impasse.

Lisbon stepped in. Dryly. "Let me fill you in. We believe Blake leaders are hiding, still networked, still active. My old SCU team have all had break-in's, likely because Blake wants that file. Jane was lured back to the US so Blake could go after him–"

"–But–"

She plowed on over him, "Once he was out of detention, someone almost ran him over. _Intentionally_. Blake destroyed the CBI, disrupted my team, and smeared everyone in California law enforcement. We're not safe so long as they're out there. Abbott's rounded up the bottom tier, people with the tattoos, but Blake's far from over."

"Why not just give Abbott the file?"

"The FBI is compromised." At Wylie's dawning look of horror she hastily clarified, "Abbott's clean. But someone high up forced him to fetch Jane. We let Abbott overhear our suspicions about Davenport only for him to be tipped off."

"They got Waller–"

Cho, "Who's probably not the only one. –Wylie, do you trust we're not Blake?"

Wylie paled, but took the measure of each. "Yes."

"Then help us. We need Abbott to let us work Blake _and_ accept the FBI's been compromised. They'll scatter if the names in that file get out. We'll never get them if the file disappears."

Wylie looked down then faced Cho. "I need to think about it."

"How long?"

"I'll let you know tomorrow, uh, after the sting."

Gazing levelly at the analyst, Cho added, "Whatever you decide, you're a valued part of this team."

Wylie nodded. Cho's reassurance went a long way toward gaining his cooperation. No matter how they dressed it up, what they asked was extra-legal, a risk to his career. He was relieved when conversation turned to the Whitaker case and ordinary topics for the remainder of lunch.

Lisbon and Jane headed to her car as Cho and Wylie drove off.

"So you're pretty confident your trap will work tomorrow?"

"Positive. That old newspaper was a—"

"Hang on." She held up a hand as her cell rang. Jane took the keys from her hand and they got in her SUV. "Hello? ... Hey, Ardiles. How are you? How's the private practice? ... Uh, it's the same money, more work. Great dental plan, though. ... Dinner? Well, I-I'm in* Austin, Texas." Jane looked at her sharply. She waved dismissively. "... You have a _jet_ that you can use to take me to dinner? What's the deal? ... This is business, right? It's not, you know, personal? ... Okay, then."* At Jane's frown, "Hang on a sec." She pressed 'Mute' and said to Jane, "Ardiles wants to fly me to Chicago for some professional advice. – Eyes on the road," she exclaimed as he stopped short at a light. "What's the harm?"

He drew a deep breath, "We talked about this. It's not safe splitting up, Lisbon."

"What if we both go?" He nodded an uneasy acceptance. She un-muted her phone. "Ardiles? I can come if Jane comes with. ... Doesn't have to be part of our meeting just, y'know, around – same restaurant maybe. ... Sorry, either both of us or I'll have to pass. ... Text me the details. Look forward to it."

"What's that about?"

She shook her head, "Not sure. Sounds worried, though."

"We're going to Chicago?"

Her cell chimed. She read, "Company jet'll be at Bush International at 5:30. Back by midnight." At Jane's glum look she nudged him affectionately, "It's a professional meeting with an old CBI colleague." Encouragingly, "Hey. Great Chicago food on his dime. Can't beat that!" He exhaled and set aside his inchoate misgivings.

Back at the FBI, Lisbon told Cho about the trip. "...We'll be back by midnight, so it won't affect tomorrow's operation. It's okay for Jane to leave Austin, right?"

"Since you cleared it. And that it's for a date with Ardiles."

Jane frowned. "Not a date!"

It was Lisbon's turn to frown. "What, like I couldn't possibly have a date with somebody?"*

Returning from the break room, Wylie asked, "You have a date in Chicago?"

Annoyed, "_Professional_ meeting with a CBI colleague."

"Oh. " Wylie and Cho returned to their work, no longer interested.

Jane muttered, "Two words, Lisbon. - 'Tasseled. Loafers.'"

She pivoted to face him. "What is with you?! He's a decent guy and what's so horrible about tasseled loafers?" Jane grimaced. She asked incredulously, "You're _jealous_? Of Ardiles?!"

He mumbled, striving to save face, "Just don't fancy the man." She chuckled at his inexplicable angst till he added, "You'd have the same reaction if I had a 'professional' meeting with Sophie."

She shook her head. "Take a nap, Jane. Improve your mood because I don't fancy a two hour flight with you acting so ridiculous." He huffed in mild offense, but took her advice.

**Restaurant, Chicago**

Lisbon reached to shake his hand but Ardiles unexpectedly drew her into a brief hug. She glanced toward Jane, who was already seated across the restaurant, but couldn't see his face. Ardiles pulled out her chair before seating himself. She was determined to relax and enjoy a restaurant she had only heard about. The preliminaries of ordering were soon over.

"So, how's life in San Francisco?"*

"Oh, it's good. I'm barely there. This case has me traveling half the month."*

"Big case?"*

"Yeah, defending a cell phone company. Competitor says my client stole their phone design, so my client's looking at $100 million in legal bills, give or take."*

"I'd be happy to take some."*

"Listen, the, um - the thing is, several times now, in meetings, uh, my phone gets hot even though I haven't used it, you know, like it's been on the whole time, like - like somebody hacked it and used it to listen in on me,"* he said in a rush.

Disbelieving, "Ardiles, you flew me to Chicago to tell me your phone gets hot?"

"Yeah."*

"What is it you're not telling me?"*

"Nothing."* After a sip of wine, "Nothing verifiable."*

"Go on."*

"Last couple months,"* he sighed, "I just get this bad, bad feeling, you know, like somebody is watching me, somebody malicious, who really doesn't like me. You ever get that feeling?"*

Reasonably, soothingly, "I'm sure your company has good detectives on retainer."*

"Yeah, but I can't go to them 'cause I don't think it has anything to do with my business."*

"Why not? You said it was a big case."*

"It's just not the way the other side plays. This is personal, all right? But I got no - I got no real proof."* He looked down, agitated. "You know, I sound like a crazy person."* Earnestly, "This is not in my head, Teresa. Come on. You know me. There is something going on, I need the advice of a detective that I can trust one-hundred percent."*

Slowly, "As it happens, I know exactly what you should do. When you go back to San Francisco, call Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt. They're in the bay area, and what you need is what they do now - digital security. They're good. If there's anything going on, they'll find out."*

The dinner ended amicably shortly after. Lisbon and Jane talked on the flight back.

"Was it worth the trip?"

Thoughtfully, "Maybe. Ardiles doesn't scare easy."

Petulantly, "Well I had to buy my own food. So much for dinner on him."

She rolled her eyes. "Really, Jane? That's what you're focusing on?"

Dropping the attitude, "Body language told me he's serious. Worried. Think his phone could be hacked and used as a mic?"

"How – how did you hear what he said?"

"Lip-reading. –But, anything to his concerns?"

She shrugged uneasily. "We should ask Grace – or Wylie. And ... and I'm being paranoid but what if it's connected to us, to Blake or to _his_ disciples?" She shook herself, "I'm sorry, Jane. It's late and I'm just being–"

"Don't."

"What?" she asked, jarred out of her rambling.

"Don't doubt your gut instincts. I'm always suspicious of coincidences."

"We're probably seeing boogeymen around every corner... I think he may be losing it, but you never know. Maybe it really is bugged."*

"Be interested in what Van Pelt and Rigsby find out."

"Client confidentiality could be a problem." She shrugged, "I'll text them and make sure they get an exception if it's related to Blake or _him_."

A while later, "Maybe he just wanted a date with you. Have you considered that?"*

"Please stop."*

Jane muttered, "Ardiles always did have a crush on you."*

He dozed off before she could scoff.

**Jane's Apartment, Austin**

Jane sat bolt upright from a sound sleep. Lisbon roused immediately.

"Nightmare?" she asked softly as she rubbed his shoulder. They were much less frequent than they used to be, but it still concerned her. Jane's past held enough horrors for several lifetimes and they continued to exact a physical and emotional toll.

"N-o-o," he replied, slowly shaking his head. "A piece just fell into place."

With determination, "It'll be there tomorrow." She clasped her arms around him and drew him down to the bed. "Right now you need sleep more than conspiracy theories. C'mon, Patrick."

Jane reluctantly nestled into the bedding, hugging her close. Lisbon didn't let herself sleep till she felt his breathing even out and his muscles relax. Whatever troubled him would be there in the morning.

Unfortunately.


	20. Chapter 20-Not Over Even When It's Over

**Chapter 20: Not Over Even When It's Over**

A/N: Asterisk (*) indicates verbatim quotations from The Golden Hammer episode.

**FBI Office, Austin**

The pudgy, geeky guy swivelled in his chair. Grinning, "Coyote! Slumming it?"

Wylie tossed a package of M&amp;M's on Hastings's desk and plopped down onto the side chair. "Heard you caught a mole."

Ripping the package open, he replied around a mouthful of chocolate bits, "Yeah. Hardest part was getting NSA on board." Cheerfully, "Those bastards think they're hot shit just 'cause they control the tracking software." After a moment, "Why you here?"

"Off the record info."

"About?"

The tall, lanky blonde shrugged nonchalantly, "Making sure my team is righteous."

Hastings leaned forward, "Think they aren't?" he asked eagerly.

Wylie shook his head, "Uh-uh. Just making sure."

"So – what?"

"You've been on Blake since the start. What's the low-down on Lisbon's old SCU team?"

Disappointed he had nothing lurid to share, "After the CBI takedown I spent _months_ researching them. That Jane guy pulled a lot of stunts, cut corners and the others went along. But always to catch a perp. None of 'em dirty, none of 'em Blake."

Wylie chewed that over while Hastings ate more candy. "Was Waller a surprise?"

Hastings frowned. "Big one. That spooky chick Fischer got suspicious and had me set a trap. Shocked the hell out of Abbott – much as you can tell with him."

"Think that's the only mole?"

"How the hell should I know? No one expected it. ... Though guess it was obvious when Davenport was tipped off. Why?"

"Nothing. Surprised 's all. –Hey, gotta go. Come upstairs sometime."

Hastings turned away. "Nope. Too much politics, too many bosses. Last thing I need is extra face time with Abbott."

**Outdoor FBI Plaza, Austin  
**

The last of Cho's Coke washed down the last bite of pizza for the closed case of Charles Whitaker. They were gathered around a table in the FBI plaza an hour after the end of the day. He tuned back into the conversation.

"... would have thought that mousy little admin to the CEO would be the murderer?" Wylie opined in disbelief.

Jane smirked as Lisbon responded, eyebrows furrowed, "You don't need bulk to taser a guy and drug him while he's unconscious!"

"Oh, uh, I didn't mean anything–"

Jane threw fuel on the fire, "Surprised because it was a tiny woman, Jason? Some small packages are loaded with C4."

Wylie stalled by gulping his soda, gaze skittering away from the face of the fierce, diminutive woman. He faintly said, "Yeah," and busied himself collecting empty pizza boxes.

Cho looked around, confirming no one was within earshot. "Decide, Wylie?"

The fair young man stopped messing with the boxes. He sat down and slid back to face the other three from a comfortable distance. Carefully, "I'll decrypt the file so long as you give the names to Abbott. That's all. –For now."

"Fine. Work on a dedicated computer, not networked, no Internet connection." Wylie began to frown.

Jane piped up, "I'll cover whatever you need." He handed him a thumb drive and a prepaid card. "Ten grand. Let me know if you need more."

Wylie huffed in surprise, pocketed the card, and examined the drive. "Copy, right? These weren't out till last year." Jane nodded.

Cho, again, "Can you access FBI decryption software?"

Wylie blushed, "I, uh, have it at home. –More convenient," he explained guiltily.

"Several programs were used sequentially. Each name encrypted separately. Blake member Alexa Shultz is one name on that file."

Wylie's eyebrows rose. "Each name is a different problem," he concluded. Cho nodded. "How do you – oh." He looked at Lisbon. "You got your old analyst working on it too." Jane and Cho looked pleased.

Lisbon spoke, "Jason, this is dangerous. Blake wants to destroy this file and anyone who knows about it. Keep it secret, protect your work. And yourself."

He pursed his lips, sobered. "Will do. I – I'll let you know when I get something."

Cho handed him a burner phone, "Use this if you need to call. I'm '1,' Jane's '2,' Lisbon's '3.' Give Abbott the file if anything happens to us." Wylie took it, excited, worried, and determined all at once. Cho nodded, Lisbon patted his shoulder, Jane smiled. They broke and left for home.

**Jane and Lisbon, Austin**

Sometimes they drove in together, sometimes apart. Lisbon didn't particularly give a damn what anyone thought. _She_ was there for Jane. _They_ were there to earn his freedom and eliminate Blake to _have_ a future. Yes, they would solve crimes, deliver justice to victims, give closure to the bereaved. All important. But Lisbon no longer harbored the blind dedication that sidelined a personal life for 20 years – not after accomplishing the extraordinary only to be betrayed by the system she served.

Today they'd driven in together, were leaving together. Lisbon glanced to her right, wondering at his silence. She nudged his shoulder with her elbow. He blinked and faced her.

"Hey. Caught the perp, recruited Wylie. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing." He automatically deflected her question with a smile.

"_Something_ is," she persisted. "What?"

He shrugged a little, thinking out loud. "Whitaker's murder. Such a waste. All the brainpower and resources devoted to breaking things and killing people."

"To defend the innocent and prevent wars," she countered severely. Lighter, "Plus there are peaceful spin-offs. The GPS. Lasers. Radar."

"I was depressed learning about Leonardo DaVinci as a kid. A towering genius of recorded history." He snorted. "He honed his talents and developed his ideas in the endless city state wars."

"Where's this melancholy coming from?"

He inhaled, "Nothing important. Tired we're_ still_ working this. Thought we were done after–" he swallowed, "-you know."

"How about a little R and R? Hit the pool. Dessert. After that, who knows," she smiled, glad to have new ways of cheering him, of keeping the stress at bay.

He changed topic, forcing a lighter tone. "I really do like that hat on you. And ... dresses."

Dryly, "Hat: Okay. Dresses, when you wear ties."

He grumbled, "Cruel woman."

She turned off the ignition and set the parking break. Soberly, "Patrick, about yesterday. You know I'm not interested in Ardiles, right?"

He leaned over and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Softly, "Yeah, I know. Just after two years on top of ten-"

"Shhh. Never anyone but you."

**Rigsby, San Francisco, Several Days Later**

Wayne Rigsby took a bite of his taco and pressed speed dial.

"Wayne?"*

"Hey, Grace, I can't contact Ardiles. His office hasn't heard from him since Friday. Can't exactly call the guy and tell him his cellphone's been bugged. Can you ping* it, try and figure out where he is?"

"Sure thing." After a moment, "Yeah, got it." She texted him the address. "Hey, are you gonna be home for dinner?"*

"Uh, yeah, sure."*

"Wait. Are you at that dirty taco truck?"* She sighed. "I can literally hear you trying to think up an excuse."*

"No, that's the sound of me eating a taco. Salad tonight, I promise."*

"I love you."*

"Bye."*

The address was in a deserted, rundown neighborhood. Rigsby parked, got out and uneasily scanned the area. _What the hell's a high priced lawyer doing around here?_ The front entry was boarded up like several others on the block so he made his way around the side alley. The bright sunlight was cut off by high walls on both sides. A cold bead of sweat snaked down his spine at the lack of partner and back-up. He drew his piece and silently made his way along one wall, avoiding broken beer bottles, needles, and random trash. Back plastered against the wall, he reached over and tested the knob of the only door into the building. He startled as it unlatched. Released, it slowly swung open revealing a windowless, black interior.

Rigsby quickly stepped through, back against the inside wall for safety. Blood pounded in his ears. He took a moment to calm and listen intently, tuning out sounds of distant traffic. The smell of blood and crap mingled with dank mildew, drawn by the draft of the open door. Rigsby tossed a pen into the room, the clatter loud in the silence. No response. He fumbled fruitlessly for a light switch, then swept his arm around and found the pull string for a bare bulb. Light flared, he blinked. A body bloody and still was tied to a chair.

"Ardiles! Damn!" Rigsby took three long strides, felt for a pulse and dialed 9-1-1. "Man stabbed at 3920 S. 24th Street. Bad shape, hurry." He set his cell down, distractedly answering the dispatcher's questions as he tried to stem the bleeding with his wadded up jacket.

**Jane's Apartment, Austin**

The warble startled them from sound sleep. Lisbon blearily felt around the nightstand, swore and tossed aside her regular cell. She roughly pulled open the drawer to get the burner phone.

"Yeah?" throat dry, voice rough. Jane turned on a lamp and she sat up, switching the phone to speaker. "Slow down, say again."

Van Pelt repeated more slowly, "All of us are on the line." They had stopped using names, even on the burner phones. "The client you referred – his phone _was_ bugged. He was almost killed."

"What?!"

Rigsby replied. "Didn't answer his calls, wasn't at the office. Tracked him through his cell phone. He was tortured and left to die in a bad area of the city."

Alert now Jane asked, "Why, who did it?"

"He was fuzzy after surgery but gave us something. Two men abducted and tortured him. Wore masks, so no ID. Guys, they tortured him for the location of the drive."

"Damn," Cho spoke for the first time.

Mouth dry, Lisbon asked, "Will he make it?"

Rigsby answered. "Lost a few feet of gut, maybe one eye. We were lucky to get any info from him. If he makes it through the next day or two doc said he'll recover."

Almost an afterthought, "Oh – I've got another name for you, too."

**Abbott's Office, Austin FBI**

Abbott glowered as Cho knocked and entered, trailed by Lisbon and Jane.

"We don't have a meeting scheduled."

"Boss, Lira thought you might spare five minutes. Please?" Cho opened.

Expressionless, he waved them to sit. "Well?"

Jane took lead this time. "We figured out another name. Give us a crack at convincing you."

Irritation evenly balanced desire for that name. "Go ahead."

Lisbon's phone vibrated with an incoming text. Jane glanced at her then continued speaking to Abbott. "Waller tipped Davenport off. We believe there are more moles serving Blake leaders who are hiding in plain sight. Blake has regrouped and is active again."

"Evidence? Or am I supposed to take it on faith?"

Jane held him with an unwavering gaze. "The brass pressured you to fetch me. Why? Why would Washington give a damn about a controversial consultant from a corrupt state bureau? I was nearly run over soon after I got out of detention. I believe it was Blake. Ardiles, a former California ADA, had his cell phone bugged. He was nearly killed yesterday after being tortured for information about a list of Blake leaders. Blake suspects Bertram kept a list and will do anything to get it. Blake is going after anyone who might have it."

Without expression, "Give me the name. And the hospital Ardiles is in."

Lisbon leaned forward, holding out her cell phone. "Too late." She read the glowing two-word text: "'He died.'"

"Give me the name. If this one pans out, we'll talk." Cho handed him a typewritten name and they filed out.


	21. Chapter 21 - An Unholy Alliance

**Chapter 21: An Unholy Alliance**

**Juarez, Mexico**

Jane smothered a yawn as the last link to the three-way call was established. They were in a motel at the boarder near Juarez, Mexico, trying to solve the murder of US attorney Edith Firlock. Long days followed by long evenings pursuing their own investigation took a toll. Lisbon nudged Jane, who sat up and sipped his tea to fully wake.

"Hey, Boss!"

"I'm not your boss," she corrected, a smile in her voice.

Cho shook his head minutely and said, "Just go with it. _Boss_." A glint of humor lightened his expression. Jane grinned.

Lisbon took charge of the call, hoping to keep it brief and get a full night's sleep. "Where do we stand? Did you find out anything about the dead client?"

Rigsby replied. "A PD friend told me they got nothing useful from the scene. No leads, no suspects. Except what we think."

Van Pelt added, "Looks like a professional job."

Lisbon again, "Probably a dead end, but keep checking to be sure nothing surfaces. – Any new names?"

Van Pelt and Wylie replied simultaneously. "No." "Not yet."

"Um, who are you?" Van Pelt asked uncertainly.

Cho jumped in, "Your counterpart."

"Oh. –Welcome aboard. Problem's a bear."

Wylie said carefully, "I have access to resources you don't have," still getting used to avoiding names during the call.

Lisbon, "Keep working. We sounded out the higher level. Didn't bite."

Jane interjected, "_Yet._ He's softening."

Van Pelt again, "Any action on the second name?"

Cho took that one, "Think he'll act soon."

"Everyone–" Wylie said tentatively, "There's news about the, uh, first name."

"Yeah?" Lisbon asked.

"He was murdered a couple of states over. The locals have a suspect."

Eagerly, "Can you get us the file?"

"We have jurisdiction. Think I can get it from downstairs."

Lisbon said, "Thanks. We'll take a look when we're back." To everyone, "Next call in a few days. I'll text you."

The call ended after a flurry of good-byes. Cho rose to return to his own hotel room but paused when he noticed Jane staring, gaze unfocused, while he tapped his lips with a forefinger.

"Jane?"

"Huh? –What, Cho?"

"Got something?" Lisbon paused in collecting cups and soda cans to listen.

Slowly, "Won't know without more information. Wonder what Visualize is up to these days?"

"Connection?"

Jane shook his head, frustrated they couldn't openly investigate so long as it was an off-the-books effort. "I could tell if I had more to go on. Visualize and Blake _were_ connected. Somehow." He looked up at them. "When I got my Red John suspects to Malibu I saw McAllister's tattoo first. Stiles made me wait, stopped me from acting ... rashly. 'Course Bertram and Smith also had the tattoo. ... Now why did Stiles do that?"

Ever practical, Cho asked, "You think they're connected today?"

Jane shrugged and got up. "Have no idea. I need more to work with."

Lisbon offered, "I can get an update on Visualize."

"How?"

"Mancini'd know. Its headquartered in Sacramento after all."

Cho looked at them. "After we close this case. Get some sleep for tomorrow."

Tone sharp from frustration and exhaustion, "Yes, Sir, oh Fearless One." Cho looked at him impassively. Jane slumped and dropped his sarcasm. "Solved the case. To close it I'll need a military truck convoy and a tank – or something that looks like one. Oh, and a few black helicopters."

Cho outright frowned. "This a bad joke?"

"No! I need it to get a confession."

Cho smoothed his hair on the back of his head and sighed. "Okay, Jane. Fill us in first thing tomorrow." Cho left and Lisbon shepherded her slightly irritated mentalist to their bed.

**FBI Plaza, Austin, Two Days Later**

The breeze ruffled her hair as Lisbon placed her call to Sacramento just after close of the workday. The difference in time zones ensured California offices would still be open. She put her cell on the bench so Jane could listen. Then she put forefinger to lips, reminding him not to butt in.

"Gabe, how's my favorite FBI agent?" Jane scowled, but restrained himself.

"Teresa?! Why the secrecy – my admin just said it was a poker pal from the past." After a beat, "Not many left after the Blake round up."

With a smile, "Keeping you on your toes." Their team avoided using last names on all calls for their side investigation. "How are you? And your baby boy?"

"He's great! Crawling all over, babbling up a storm. You? – Oh, and whatever happened with Jane?"

Lisbon glared a warning at Jane. "Fine. We work for the FBI now thanks to you, Gabe."

"Good, I guess. What can I do for you?"

"Curious about Visualize."

"You're a bona fide FBI agent now?"

Curbing her annoyance, "Yeah. Better than police chief in Podunk, Washington. –What can you tell me about Visualize?"

"Lots of changes in the last few years. Bret Stiles disappeared just before the Blake Association mess. Never heard from since. Rumor is he was killed in an explosion near LA. Jason Cooper took charge, then was nailed for – get this – embezzling from Visualize. Caleb Grainger now runs the place. Long time member, don't know much else."

Lisbon glanced at Jane, who made motions urging her to draw him out. "What else?"

Guarded now, "Suspected of branching out into drug running and selling weapons to terrorists. Active investigation so no details."

Lisbon glanced at Jane. He mouthed silently, 'Where's Cooper?' "Gabe, where's Cooper serving his sentence?"

"Don't know off the top of my head. Why?"

"Connected to something we're investigating." Easy, "I'll go through channels if I need to see him. –Hey, I owe you."

"Yep. Pay me by stopping by next time you're in town."

"My pleasure. Thanks again." She pocketed her cell and glanced at Jane. His expression, now usually open around her, revealed the whirring of gears and cogs as bits of information fit into a theory.

Noticing her gaze, "Teresa, we need a meeting."

**Rigsby Home, San Francisco, Same Night**

It was early evening and Rigsby and Van Pelt spoke quietly as they mounted the steps to their small 'painted lady' Victorian.

"...Nice to eat out for a change, even if this one–" Van Pelt hoisted the sleepy infant higher on her shoulder, "was a little fussy."

"We didn't annoy anyone, right buddy?" Ben nodded agreeably. Ben was staying with his dad during his mother Sarah's honeymoon with her new husband. As Rigsby was about to unlock the door, he asked softly, "–Hey! Did we leave a light on?"

"Don't think so, why?"

"Thought I saw a light in the back," Rigsby said, peering through the wavy leaded glass flanking the door. He frowned, "Take the kids to the car."

Van Pelt urgently whispered, "You shouldn't go in alone–" Her husband waved her silent as he drew his gun and quietly unlocked the door. She grabbed Ben's hand and dragged him to the car.

Rigsby slipped inside on silent foam-soled shoes. Van Pelt waited in the car, shushing Ben and having him crouch down by the floor.

Light flared.

The back door crashed open, followed by the slap of running feet.

Van Pelt dialed 9-1-1- and pulled out her gun. Suddenly all lights were on. Minutes later she startled as Rigsby loomed up beside the car from the dark. They hustled their kids inside and bolted the doors.

Van Pelt put Taylor in her crib. Ben clung to his dad's leg as they waited for the SFPD. The police came, checked out the broken basement door, checked the yard. The LEO's wrote up the break-in but could do nothing more.

Rigsby closed the door as the police left and turned to Van Pelt. Face tight, jaw clenched, "Grace, pack everything you and the kids need for a couple weeks. I want you to stay with your folks."

"Is this even connected to–"

"You didn't see Ardiles. And," he gulped noisily, "yeah, I'm sure. The guy was jimmying the door to the computer room." The metal frame, steel door, and special security locks for the computer room had just paid off.

Van Pelt backed up client files to cloud storage then wiped the drives clean. She took one burner phone and the laptop Jane paid for with her. Suitcases were packed and kids bundled into the SUV. The three of them were on a nonstop flight to Iowa by nine. Rigsby sat in his SUV at the airport, waiting for the prearranged call.

**Jane's Apartment, Austin, Same Night**

Jane sprawled on his couch while Lisbon brewed coffee, set water to boil, and put out cups and snacks. The late night meetings made for a long day but ensured everyone was available.

Lazily watching her, "Will you relax, woman? You're a perpetual motion machine." He added, "Even though they're impossible."

She stopped momentarily. "Dammit, Jane, it's killing me that we can't actually _investigate_. Blake is out there, is dangerous, and we're sitting on our hands waiting for Abbott to wise up."

"Hey," he protested mildly and walked over to fold her into a loose embrace. "We're making progress. The pieces are coming together and Abbott's weakening." They broke at Cho's sharp knock.

Looking around, "Just us?"

Lisbon replied, "Wylie said he's coming."

It was a few minutes after the hour and everyone stalled by getting drinks, hoping Wylie would soon show.

The young analyst knocked and rushed in, flustered. "Sorry I'm late. Thought you'd want to know Abbott's team went after Quiñones tonight."

"Everyone, SIT," Lisbon ordered as she placed the call.

"I'm here," answered the familiar voice of their former colleague.

"All of us here on this end. Where's your partner?"

"There was a break-in. I sent them someplace safer."

Cho tensed and demanded, "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah. Found a guy trying to jimmy the computer room door when we got home. Nothing to go on, PD can't do anything."

Jane commented quietly, "Getting nervous. They've figured out someone's hunting them, someone new who knows about the file."

Cho expanded on that, "Main team's been analyzing cases to justify a warrant for the second name. Just got enough to pick him up. Word's out."

Thoughtfully, "Meaning there's probably another mole."

Lisbon spoke again, "Everyone who even might have known about the file is in danger. It's time to get protection." Lisbon and Cho had fallen into an easy leadership rhythm. She led on their Blake effort. Cho honchoed their regular FBI cases.

Cho. "How?"

"Call the new bureau head with a warning. Get safe house protection for you," she referred to Rigsby. "Um, our 'floating' colleague retired to Florida a year ago, so he's safe. Anyone else?"

Jane offered, "Our old tupperware friend." At Wylie's confusion Lisbon whispered, "Tell you later."

Cho snorted, "Will it work given their history?"

"I'll convince them," Jane said confidently.

"Anything else?" Lisbon asked to keep the call focused.

Jane drew a deep breath. "I have a theory..."

**FBI, Austin, Two Days Later**

_Judge Emilio Pérez Quiñones._ Abbott pressed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Unlike Davenport, an overnight operation and redeye flight put Quinones in the Austin detention suite. He dug a bottle of liquid tears from his desk, hoping his eyes would stop feeling like they'd been through a sandstorm before Quinones arrived for interrogation.

His team had rounded up literally thousands of Blake members but rarely got more than a step or two up the criminal ladder. Blake copied classic espionage "cell" structure – isolated groups of 4 or 5 low-level members. They couldn't betray what they didn't know, and they knew neither other cells nor the identity of upper levels. _How the hell did Jane come up with two leads to higher level Blake? Jane has some explaining to do when I'm done with Quiñones. _His phone jarred him out of his reverie.

"Abbott ... What?! Quiñones died?... Jackson'll live? ... The driver?" Abbott slammed his open palm on his desk.

**Cho, Lisbon and Jane, Restaurant, Austin**

Cho, Lisbon and Jane found a quiet restaurant for lunch.

Orders placed, Cho abruptly started. "Abbott picked up Quiñones last night, brought him to Austin for questioning." Wylie had said that was in motion during their call. "Quiñones died this morning. Car ran him over in front of Hotel FBI."

Lisbon straightened. "How? It's protected by concrete planters."

Grimly, "MiniCooper. Just narrow enough to fit between."

Jane said sarcastically, "What a coincidence."

Lisbon probed for details. "The driver?"

"Apparent heart attack. Dead when they got to him. Agent Levy has scrapes and bruises. Jackson's hospitalized, don't know how bad he was injured."

She looked at the two men, "Any chance it _was_ an accident?"

Cho answered first. "Doubt it. Driver just happens to lose control when Quiñones is being escorted out. Car just happens to fit through the barriers. Driver just happens to die of a heart attack. _Both_ Blake members we fed Abbott dead before they can be questioned?" Jane nodded his agreement.

Slowly, Lisbon offered, "And Davenport's murderer happens to live at a Visualize address. Not accidents. But this latest attack is awfully ambitious for Blake or Visualize."

Cho agreed. "More like a military special op. I don't know what the hell is going on."

Jane said slowly, "That's the last piece." He looked from Lisbon to Cho. "When I was on the island, a friend warned me someone was looking for me. Visualize materials were in his suitcase. Visualize couldn't act because everyone knows everybody in that small village. That's why Abbott was forced to fetch me, make me accessible. When I got here, detention prevented access till I got out–"

"–When someone tried to run you over," Cho added.

Jane nodded. "Blake got control of Visualize. Stiles died in the Malibu explosion. Jason Cooper was ... probably framed for embezzlement, which let – who was that?"

"-Caleb Grainger," Lisbon filled in.

"–Grainger step in. Grainger is allied with Blake. Stiles and Cooper would never jeopardize Visualize by dealing with terrorists. Blake doesn't care, maybe is just greedier. So Visualize members replace the Blake members Abbott rounded up to keep the money flowing."

Cho asked skeptically, "Visualize members would go along with criminal activity?"

Excitedly, "Not all! Maybe not most. They'd follow orders, but aren't trained law enforcement, aren't familiar with weapons. _That's_ why Visualize's now running weapons and drugs. Main requirement is secrecy and transportation, something Visualize members would do."

"Visualize apparently killed Davenport. Who got Quiñones?"

Jane looked at them. "You agree that looks like a special op by a trained professional?" They nodded. Jane closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. "Abbot's got more than a mole problem. Blake has agents in the FBI – and maybe other Homeland arms. They did this and probably Ardiles."

"-Damn."

"–Crap, how will we ever get them?"

Slowly, "Not Abbott's way. I have some ideas."


	22. Chapter 22 - Too Many Cooks

**Chapter 22: Too Many Cooks...**

***** FLASHBACKS*****

**California Investigation Bureau, San Francisco**

The cool, dusky lady smoothed back hair that was already perfect, reflecting on the call. _Damn his tricks! _she thought with equal parts affection and irritation. She hated news of Blake's resurrection. _I'm trying to staff up this bureau and now have to worry about Blake._ The fears were justified. High level law enforcement positions in the most populous, prosperous state were _exactly_ those Blake leaders wanted. _Once law enforcement's infected with corruption, what's the antibiotic, the cure?_ She reached across the pristine, highly polished desk to the intercom. She'd already offered safe house protection to Wayne Rigsby who had refused. Now she had to honor her promise to protect her old nemesis. _If only I wouldn't feel guilty if he were knocked off._ It wasn't the first time she reflected on the inconvenience of a conscience.

"Chris, get me the number for a Mr. J. J. LaRoche. At the SFPD."

**Grand Junction, Iowa**

Little gusts fluttered the leaves of her notepad and played with her hair. Fireflies began their show, triggered by the fading light. Lost in thought, she gazed without seeing the expanse of neatly trimmed lawn that lay beyond the generous wrap porch. Her stepson's laughter recalled her to the present as he romped joyously with two bounding mastiffs that each outweighed him fourfold. She roused and keyed in the next computer commands that might eventually reveal the enemies they sought.

Two days ago the flight to Des Moines provided all too much time to think. There was all too much to think about. The plane didn't have blankets enough to counter the icy fear accompanying her as she whisked two children to safety. It was tempting to blame Jane, ever an agent of chaos. She squelched that impulse, knowing the threat was there regardless. The last dozen years shattered any illusion that evil stayed neatly contained somewhere else. She shied from the painful memory of bringing – _inviting_ – Craig O'Laughlin to her childhood slice of paradise. _That was almost Biblical_, she mused.

When their old colleagues asked for help her husband _hated_ the thought of getting tangled in another malevolent conspiracy. Decency and duty and reason won out. He – and she – would do whatever necessary to help and, by doing so, protect their family. Unless fought, evil spread.

"Gracie! C'mere. Hurry." Her dad the news junkie no doubt noticed some phenom he just _had_ to share. A quick look assured her Ben would be fine if she ducked inside.

She stopped dead at the news photo frozen on-screen.

**Rigsby, San Francisco**

Two days ago Rigsby watched his family file through security and disappear down the concourse to their gate. They were on the way to Iowa and – he prayed – safety.

He took the burner phone conference call in the airport parking lot, then returned home to a restless night with a gun under his pillow and worries about his family on an endless loop. He had – they ALL had – been through this shit for ten long years with Red John. This was worse. Now he had children to protect and a wife who went through hell after killing her murderous fiancé. He was incandescent with anger that his family was endangered and his home violated by the dregs of the criminal network set up by that psychopath.

The day after they left, Rigsby contacted their clients to delay or cancel scheduled jobs. Out of the blue Hightower called to suggest safe house protection through the new CIB, an offer that had Jane's prints all over it. With his family safe in Iowa, he didn't need to be trapped in a safe house. After kicking around aimlessly another few hours, he knew what he needed to do.

**Jane's Apartment, Austin**

Lisbon panicked at feeling smothered. She flexed her arms, loosening the stranglehold enough to inhale. Gripped by a nightmare, Jane was gripping her so hard she was breathless.

"Patrick," she gasped, urgently but softly.

She squirmed uncomfortably. Louder, "Patrick!"

Finally she elbowed him in the stomach hard enough to hurt. "Jane! Let go!"

He exhaled with a whoosh, blinked and woke. He released her with a caress of apology. "Teresa, I'm sorry. You okay?"

"Fine." She turned to face him in the pre-dawn twilight. "Tell me."

He flopped to his back and lay quiet till his breathing normalized and his heart stopped pounding. "Jumbled fragments, nothing I can describe."

Gently, "What's going on?"

Now more composed, "Free floating anxiety." He shook his head, _wishing_ it was as simple as waking up. "Blake, the murders. It ... resonates with the past."

Softly, "Hey. Maybe today we'll convince Abbott. This won't go on forever." She settled against his side, draping a leg over his and stroking his face with one hand. He stilled and relaxed. Eventually sleep reclaimed him.

Sleep had less luck with Lisbon. Jane was a different man than the gutted shell she met so long ago. That didn't mean that the scars disappeared, that all demons were vanquished. A gentle man at heart, her friend-colleague-lover was again thrust into intrigue, danger, and murder with high stakes for himself and his friends – _hell, for the country_. Once again the life he – they – wanted would have to be wrested from a malignant conspiracy determined to kill them. Red John's death was the sole bright spot. Blake was big, and determined, and ruthless. But it lacked the criminal genius of its founder. Working with Jane, she was absolutely certain: They got Red John; they'd get Blake. It promised to be a trying day and she was already tired.

**Cho's Apartment, Austin**

Kimball Cho tossed his mail on the counter as he entered his apartment. He was both heartened and concerned. They _were_ getting somewhere. The details of Blake's resurgence were becoming clearer. But Blake had noticed, upping the risks for his team, upping odds against success. The FBI was proving to be more political and rigid than the CBI ever was. Though Abbott was coming around to accepting him as an agent, they were still shut out of Blake.

_Hell, it's been 80 years since the mob got its foothold during Prohibition and the Great Depression! We keep beating it back but never truly win. _ Blake had metastasized to corrupt law enforcement in 24 states. If their effectiveness against the mob was any indication, Blake was here to stay. _Especially_ if Abbott was too pig-headed stubborn, too rigid to make use of Patrick Jane, of his team. _Frustrating._

After changing clothes he sorted through his mail while continuing to ruminate. _Take another crack at Abbott tomorrow._ The delicate scrawl of a hand-addressed envelope snagged his attention. After reading the enclosed letter, his hand sank to the table still clutching it as he leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. She would never directly ask for help, her respect for his career bordering on reverence. But he could read between the lines. His mother's health was slowly failing. _I'm here instead of San Francisco. How the hell can I do both?_

He worried the problem all evening before finally setting it aside to turn in. Tomorrow they'd take another crack at Abbott. The sooner they dealt Blake a killing blow, the sooner he could meet his family obligations, honor the promise he'd made his father on his deathbed.

*****PRESENT DAY*****

**Abbott's Office, Austin FBI, Morning**

...Abbott ended the call and slammed his palm down in a rare display of temper. _McAllister didn't run a network of thousands without help. Had to have lieutenants. Just one thread might unravel that network._ Abbott hoped Davenport and Quiñones, judges both, would be that loose thread. _Now both dead. Damn!_ He shoved away from his desk and left for the scene.

An hour later he had examined the scene and assigned agents to investigate. His questions were many. Who was the driver? Did he die of a heart attack? _Was_ it an accident? _('Accident' my ass!) _If not, did Blake do it? What's the connection? And most threatening, how was a hit arranged when Quiñones was only picked up last night?

Abbott was 95% certain it was Blake, but the FBI didn't operate on guesses. At this point he was sure of just two things. The driver died immediately. And he didn't have the tattoo.

Agents working Blake would gather information and chase down leads, try to find a connection. Others were researching the Davenport murder, looking for links to Blake. Next, he would call Director Schultz and report this latest loss, something he dreaded. Then ... then he'd have to devise another plan. _First step: Pin down that slippery bastard. Exactly _how_ did he know about Davenport and Quiñones?_

**Abbott's Office, Austin FBI, After Lunch**

Cho, Lisbon and Jane entered and took the three chairs in front of Abbott's desk. He'd unexpectedly summoned them to meet, a gift since they didn't have to ask. They silently waited for Abbott to start.

"You know Quiñones is dead?" They nodded. "And Davenport?" More nods.

Abbott focused on Jane. "You _knew_ they were Blake." Not a question. "How?"

"I have a file. Thumb drive." Cho and Lisbon started at the admission. Cho drew breath to speak then reconsidered. This was Jane's game, one at which he excelled.

Abbott's face darkened. He rumbled dangerously, "You're withholding evidence?"

Jane sat straighter, dropping the nonchalance. "Maybe."

The muscles in Abbott's jaw clenched. Jane idly wondered if he'd crack a molar. "Hand it over. Now."

Jane drew the moment out. "No."

Abbott's ferocious expression made Lisbon regret leaving her piece in her drawer. He mastered himself. "Why shouldn't I charge you – all of you – with felony obstruction of justice?"

"That would be stupid. How does that help solve Blake?" Abbott was struck dumb. Jane leaned forward to make his point. "That file is our one advantage. Davenport and Quiñones are dead because your team's compromised. I won't waste that advantage."

Through gritted teeth, "Not. Your. Call."

Jane leaned back to ease the tension. "We're on the same side, Abbott. Stop this pissing match and focus on the problem." Shocked at Jane's crude language, Lisbon was more shocked when it worked.

Abbott leaned back, tension draining from his burly frame. He shook his head a little and couldn't suppress a glimmer of respect. "You're placing a big bet. Make your case because right now you're looking at prison time."

Like flicking a switch, Jane's now soothing voice encouraged a calm, civilized exchange. "You've managed a massive, two-year effort that rounded up the bottom tier of Blake. Dozens? hundreds? of agents were involved? And some sort of executive committee?" He paused, needing details.

Coldly, "My core team of 12 is supplemented as needed. Hundreds of agents from field offices have been involved. This operation is guided by a task force at the highest levels in Washington – liaised with all branches of Homeland. Blake undermines our entire legal system, threatening civil order and national security. –What do three individuals, new to the Bureau, hope to do compared to this?"

Honeyed voice belying cutting criticism, "End Blake. The usefulness of your approach is over. The task force and legions of agents just multiply the risk of leaks. You caught one mole after Davenport. Quiñones proves there are more, agents not just passing information but conducting a sophisticated hit. Worse, the brass that forced you to retrieve me is likely serving Blake." Slowly, clearly, "You need a small, trusted team that can think and act outside the box."

Disparaging smile on his lips Abbott asked, "And you know this – how?"

Jane looked around, deliberately including Lisbon and Cho, "We worked in a corrupted organization for ten years. And succeeded anyhow. We got McAllister." Abbott's eyes flickered as he mentally substituted 'killed.' "We exposed Blake." He leaned forward again, "Two years with no progress on getting Blake leaders. Isn't it time for a different approach?"

Acidly, "A trustworthy team. You?!"

"Our lives depend on ending Blake. We've all had break-ins as Blake searched for that drive. I was almost murdered. Ardiles died after torture. Because of Davenport and Quiñones, now Blake _knows_ a file exists. Blake will kill anyone with a possible connection because their lives depend on it."

Abbott seemed to deflate a little. "You'll turn over the drive if I try your approach?"

"If the information is limited to people you trust with your life. Those _are_ the stakes."

Abbott inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He looked hard at each. "I'll try it your way. You'll operate in parallel but separate from my other team." He pursued his lips. "I need approval from above."

Alarmed, "_One_ person you trust implicitly?"

Abbott slowly nodded. "I'll limit it to one. Yes. If I get approval today, can you deliver the drive immediately?

Jane nodded. "It's encrypted. So far the only name we got is Quiñones." He flashed a smile, "Figured out Davenport myself."

Cho spoke for the first time, "Who will you use to decrypt it?" Abbott bridled, then decided to go along. _He learns fast_, thought Lisbon.

"Hastings."

"You trust him ... why?" prodded Cho.

Abbott gave him a cold glance but answered anyway. "He's on Blake _because_ I trust him. Three years ago he was tortured without breaking. That salvaged the case against a drug lord."

Lisbon suggested low key, "We trust our team analyst, Wylie. We'd like him to work on it, too. – I, uh, think he's friends with Hastings."

After a moment, "I'll go with your judgment." _In for a penny..._

The three stood. Jane smiled brilliantly, genuinely and extended his hand. "Dennis, I look forward to working with you." Surprised, Abbott shook his hand. The others shook as well.

After a moment he growled, "Well. Get on with it."

"Yes, sir," responded Cho and Lisbon. Jane smiled again.

Once in the hall Jane wilted. Alarmed, Lisbon searched his face. "Misgivings?"

"No, wasn't sure how it'd go."

Cho chimed in, "Odds?"

Jane puffed his cheeks and exhaled, "Maybe 75-25. Abbott's practical, wants Blake ended. But he's captive of a massive bureaucracy. Wasn't certain he's flexible enough."

Voice low, Cho followed up, "He'll play it straight with us?"

Jane nodded. "Wouldn't have let it get so far if I wasn't sure. We now have the FBI – or at least Dennis – on our side."

"Jane, you–" Cho broke off as he heard his desk phone ring. "Later," he threw over his shoulder.

They continued to the break room. Jane made tea while Lisbon poured coffee for herself and a cup to bring Cho.

After checking that they were alone, Jane offered randomly, "Need to talk to Cooper next. Did you–"

"Yeah, Wylie found him. Cooper's serving time in the South Dakota state pen of all places."

Jane rubbed his lip, "Makes sense. Isolate him, neutralize him as a player."

Less interested in Cooper than the meeting they just had, "Jane, where is it?"

He leaned against the counter and sipped his tea, not incidentally verifying they couldn't be overheard. "Escape car, where else?"

Weeks ago he had Pete Barsocky get him the older, slightly battered sedan. The gray paint was dull and scuffed enough to be unappealing to car thieves. Bought for cash, the registration was in Rose Turner's name – Pete's niece by marriage – obscuring any link to Jane. He parked it a few blocks from their apartments, equipped with suitcases of clothes, well-hidden cash, Lisbon's spare firearms, and other sundries. He and Lisbon took turns moving it every few days after dark. Lisbon thought it unlikely they'd need it – Jane had promised her, and Cho, not to run – but she deferred to Jane in matters of deception and skirting the law.

Jane took the Citroen – to Lisbon's dismay, he'd found a near identical replacement for the one left at Malibu two years ago, - fetched the drive, and returned an hour after quitting time. Lisbon intercepted him on her way back from the restroom.

"Hey, handsome. How 'bout dinner at that tex-mex place?"

"Soon as I deliver this, see if Abbott got the okay."

"You do that while I get my things. Meet me by the elevator."

Jane walked on toward Abbott's office.

A minute later Lisbon was on her way when Jane passed at a dead run.

"Jane! What the hell?!"

"C'mon." He plunged through the stairwell door and careened down three flights, nearly falling in his haste. Lisbon followed and barely closed the Citroen door before he peeled away.

"What's wrong?!"

"Abbott left early. Meeting Don Fischer from DC," he got out while speeding wildly, tempting fate. "Iron Works Barbeque."

"But what–" she asked, hanging on grimly.

"That's the connection! Kim's father Don is ex-CIA. He's Blake and Abbott's the next target."

Lisbon swore and called Cho but had to leave a message.

Jane screeched to a halt at Iron Works and dashed inside. Lisbon followed in time to hear the hostess say, "That party just left."

"Which way?" Lisbon flashed her badge.

The woman shrank back from Jane's intensity, "Uh, south I think. Black SUV."

They sped south. Lisbon checked the windows of every black SUV they passed while Jane thought about a likely destination.

After a minute, "Abbott's house. Right direction. Wife's away. Private."

"You sure?" as she texted it to Cho.

Grimly, "Best guess." Lisbon dialed 9-1-1 and unholstered her gun.

The Citroen screamed around the turn and hurtled up the very private drive. Jane spied a black SUV and huffed in relief.

The Citroen fishtailed as he jammed on the brakes to avoid the SUV. He stopped just short of the now-visible victims.

Abbott was down, hands cuffed behind. Another man lay close, head gashed, gun nearby. A woman lay a bit farther, back to them, blood trickling down the sloped concrete.

They flung open their doors and ran toward the wounded.

They ducked as bullets pinged around them. Lisbon returned fire.

Jane cowered behind the black SUV, arms protecting his head. He regrouped seconds later. Lisbon fired steadily and Jane chanced dragging the woman to cover. He knelt and pressed hard to stem the gushing abdominal wound, blood and gut contents leaking around his fingers.

"Sonofabitch!" Her gun clicked several times, magazine empty. Lisbon lunged for the gun lying near the unknown man, rolled and made it back to cover. She aimed carefully as the shooter briefly showed himself, then swore ferociously as this gun clicked empty.

"Jane!" She grabbed at his jacket sleeve. "C'mon. Jane!" The blonde man stumbled to his feet, eyes glassy. She shoved him into the passenger seat, slammed the door and sprinted around the other side. The gunman was approaching, taking aim through the windshield.

_Thank God!_ Keys were in the ignition. She jerked into reverse and steered looking backward. Plunging back onto the street, horns blared as traffic swerved around them. Distant sirens didn't change her mind. Abbott, Kim Fischer, and another - Kim's dad? - were wounded, maybe dying. Her prints were on the gun that likely fired those shots. And she had no idea who to trust.

"Fuck!"

She caught her breath and her hammering pulse slowed. Jane slumped against the door, dazed and silent. Covered in blood, she couldn't tell if any was his. A blaring horn reminded her it was almost dark, to turn on headlights. She drove sedately to blend in, cursing again Jane's preference for the distinctive car.

"Jane." She shook his shoulder with her right hand. "Jane." After several seconds he vacantly looked her way. "Are you hurt?"

He blinked, working to understand. "No ... I think."

Lisbon patted his torso, thankful there was no squish of fresh blood. She exhaled in relief when they reached the escape car. _Gonna get used after all._ Dark now, she hustled Jane into the dull gray car. She heaved a sigh as they left Austin behind. She drove north. Toward South Dakota.


	23. Chapter 23 - Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 23: Best Laid Plans**

**Cho, Abbott's House, Austin**

Cho braked sharply, pulled over and parked. He strode to the scene, ducking under the police tape after showing his badge. Cruiser lights flashed with a strobe effect, red-blue-red-blue. He caught sight of ambulances and tensed.

One cop kept press and gawkers away. Another searched the yard. Two others talked with a man while EMT's tended the figures on stretchers. Abbott was strapped to one, no surprise after Lisbon's message. Relief surged then guilt when he realized the woman was Kim Fischer, not Lisbon. _Where the hell are they?_ The first ambulance pulled away.

"How bad?" he asked an EMT.

Hurriedly while loading Abbott's stretcher, "This guy, head grazed by a bullet. Concussion at least." He hopped up next to the stretcher as the driver ran to the front. "Woman, abdominal GSW. Critical."

"Where?"

"Brackenridge." He slammed the rear door. In no time the ambulance was speeding away, lights flashing and siren wailing.

Cho looked around. The cruiser's headlights showed a large pool of blood and a smaller red stain several feet away. A long smear suggested someone – Kim? - was dragged from the pool to the SUV. _Who? Why?_ Open handcuffs lay next to the smaller stain. Bullet holes in the SUV, an abandoned Glock, and chipped concrete screamed firefight. A matte handprint of dried blood stood out on the shiny SUV.

He turned to the cops – nametags Miller and Davidson – who were questioning a victim and showed his badge. Miller nodded and continued getting a statement. Red seeped through the white gauze taped to the victim's head. The Austin PD forensics van pulled up and techs began working the scene.

"...leaving the Iron Works BBQ. A man came up behind us with a gun. Cuffed Dennis behind his back. Kim drove. When we got here, a man and woman arrived in a blue car – some foreign job." Cho frowned. "Kim and Dennis knew them!"

"Names?"

"'Teresa Lincoln,' something like that. The guy's name was odd – 'Jane.' My daughter _worked_ with those bastards!" Cho's jaw clenched, biting back the words calling him on it. Davidson fiddled with his smart phone.

"What happened? _Exactly_."

He drew a deep breath, looked down then up. "I grabbed for the gun, got slammed in the head – knocked out." He touched the bandage. "They were gone when I woke up. Dennis was wounded and unconscious. My daughter, my God, my daughter is shot in the stomach! – I – I need to get to the hospital. _Please_."

"Description?" Davidson showed Miller a picture on his cell, hiding it from the victim.

He closed his eyes to remember. "All three of 'em white. Kidnapper had a nylon stocking mask. Average height, middle age, brown hair, navy suit. The man from the blue car was about five-ten, late 30's maybe, curly blonde hair, three piece gray suit. Woman's five-four in, uh, boots with heels, 35-to-40. Tiny with long dark hair, wearing a black pantsuit." The cops exchanged glances and Davidson stepped over to the cruiser. _Probably to put out a BOLO, _thought Cho.

"What did they want? Did anyone say anything?"

He shook his head. "They tried to kill us."

Cho spoke for the first time, "Officer Miller, a word." They stepped to the side, out of earshot of Kim's father.

"Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane work for the FBI. I'm certain they didn't do this. He's lying."

Miller frowned. "Gotta follow procedure till this is cleared up."

Cho waved at the scene, "Look for yourself. Bullet holes in the SUV, woman dragged to cover. Someone was shooting from a distance – not close up like he says."

Miller's forehead creased. "We'll detain him. If you know the others they need to come forward." Apologetically, "I can't involve you now that the FBI is implicated."

Cho nodded. "That works. The FBI will want this case."

Still frowning, "Your director needs to contact Chief Daniels."

"Fine. Just don't cut him loose."

Cho called the FBI and told the watch officer about Abbott and Fischer, Lisbon and Jane. That agent would contact Abbott's back-up, and then Schultz.

Cho started for Brackenridge hospital. _Someone almost killed Abbott. Better make sure he doesn't try again. _He couldn't do anything about the investigation. _Hell, who's even in charge? And where–" _ A text came in: 'Call me.' Unknown number. He pressed callback but the phone was out of service. _No matter._ He knew who called. A few minutes later Director Schultz called, suspended him, and ordered him to report to Abbott's office. Once there, Agent Pike relieved him of his service piece and badge. Cho expected this since his team was implicated but it still felt like a punch in the gut. Pike explained an acting supervising agent would be appointed from another field office until Abbott returned.

Cho stopped by his apartment for the burner phone and another gun. Guards would automatically be posted for Abbott. _Can they be trusted?_

**Cho, Brackenridge Hospital, Austin**

Once at the hospital Cho hid his gun in a restroom and then headed for Abbott's room.

A man in a black suit straightened as Cho approached, an agent Cho didn't know. A nurse entered the room and Cho glimpsed Abbott, sleeping or unconscious. His head sported a bulky white bandage.

"Got business here?"

"He's my boss. I'm concerned." Cho's regular cell vibrated. He ignored it.

"Your team is accused of this."

"They'll be cleared. I want to be sure Abbott's okay."

The agent thought a moment. Cho had a good reputation in the Austin bureau. "Turn around, feet back, hands to the wall." Visitors and hospital staff goggled and drew back as the agent patted Cho down. "Keep 20 feet away." Cho moved 20 feet down the corridor with a clear line of sight to Abbott's door. He'd retrieve his gun when the agent was distracted. Cho grabbed a chair, settled in, and checked his cell but ignored Rigsby's call. Rigsby would have used the burner if it involved Blake. Wylie called next.

"Cho. ... Private room, don't know how bad. Don't know about Fischer. ... Didn't do it. ... At Brackenridge. Guarding. ... Making sure. ... Appreciate the help. We'll alternate." Wylie arrived soon after, relieving Cho. _Need to find out what's going on. _He used the burner phone in his car.

**Grand Junction, Iowa**

Van Pelt stopped dead when she saw Lisbon and Jane on screen. Her dad pressed 'play.'

_'...resa Lisbon and Patrick Jane are being sought in connection with a shooting involving three people. Two agents from the Austin FBI office were injured with one in critical condition. The third victim, a retired government employee, claims it was attempted murder. Another man was involved in the attack but no details are available. The alleged shooters are considered armed and dangerous. Call the number at the bottom of the screen if you see them. Do not approach them. Stay tuned for breaking news as we follow this troubling story. We will now resume our regularly schedu–'_

Her dad clicked the TV off. "Gracie, know anything about this? Aren't they your former-"

She put up a hand. "–Hang on, Dad, gotta take this," she interrupted as her cell chimed with a call from her husband.

"Wayne, are you all right? ... Haven't you seen the news?! Lisbon and Jane are accused of shooting two agents. ... Just landed? Where - here? ... " She sighed. "No surprise Cho's ignoring your calls with what happened in Austin. ... Yeah, I can ping it. Give me a minute. ..." Suddenly worried, she muted her phone and stepped outside. "Ben, dinnertime. Grandma's got spaghetti with cookies for dessert." Ben ran into the house with the mastiffs on his heels. Van Pelt launched the GPS tracking software. "Babe, got it. He's at Brackenridge hospital. ... At 601 east 15th, in Austin. ... Call and let me know what's going on. And – be safe. ... Love you, too."

She exhaled long and slow. _It's sure hit the fan now. Hope they've got a plan._

**Lisbon and Jane, Heading North**

The only sounds were the engine's purr and hiss of tires. After thirty minutes large raindrops spattered the windshield then combined into steady rain. She glanced at Jane who remained silent and huddled against the passenger door. _Whatever's wrong will have to wait._ Lisbon exited the interstate, pulled into a shopping center and parked away from other cars. She rummaged in her suitcase then replaced suit jacket and boots with a hooded nylon jacket and flip flops, casual clothes unremarkable in the summer rain.

She slid back into the driver's seat. "Jane." He dully looked her way. "I need to buy some things. You okay here a few minutes?" He nodded. She unfurled a light blanket over him, explaining, "So no one sees the blood." She pulled her hood up to hide her hair and dashed into the big box store, praying Jane would stay put.

Lisbon soon returned with a new burner phone, man's shirt, wet wipes, snacks, bottled drinks and an umbrella. Thanks to self-checkout and the hood, she attracted no attention and her face was hidden from security cameras. She propped the open umbrella between the car roof and open passenger door.

"Give me your jacket and shirt." He barely reacted. She nudged him forward and helped him strip. Several wet wipes later, most of the gore was off his hands and stomach where it had soaked through. _Least he's not hurt, _pretty sure despite the lack of light. She slipped the new shirt on him, glad she got a button-up. Blood stains on the knees of his pants, black in the dim light, couldn't be helped. She bagged the fouled clothes, drove behind the store and tossed the bag into a dumpster. Cops might check the trash at gas stations and rest stops; unlikely for store trash.

She texted 'Call me' to Cho's work cell then removed the battery so it couldn't be traced. He'd have gone to Abbott's house, seen the carnage, known they hadn't done it. They desperately needed to coordinate._ Did Abbott die? Kim? Who was the second shooter? Does Cho realize Fischer's dad is Blake? If he's still alive, Abbott has to be protected. Jane and I need to see Cooper, find out how Blake got control of Visualize. And more important, what to do about it._ She let herself hope they'd see a way to flush out the Blake leaders. Lisbon glanced at Jane again. _He's gotta snap out of it_, she thought anxiously.

They drove another hour before Cho called her on her other burner cell. She switched to speaker.

"You two okay?"

"Yeah. What's going on?"

"Bureau head's unconscious. Other one's in surgery, critical. Her dad's in custody, claims you did this. No sign of the other perp. You're wanted and they've mobilized a dragnet. I'm suspended."

She swallowed. "Didn't wanna run but I–"

"Right move, you're being framed. Got a plan?"

"Road trip to find out how the conspiracy got control of the cult."

"Where's our psychic?" noticing Jane hadn't said anything.

"He's a little dazed." Resolutely, "He'll be okay."

Suddenly worried, "Better be or we're toast. I'll push to clear you two. Tough till the wounded agents can give statements."

"Yeah." Grimly, "I did something stupid. I emptied my clip and grabbed the gun that was there. Forensics will find my prints on it. -Keep them from smearing you."

"Working on it. Call when you have a plan."

"'Night. Thanks."

He nodded, then remembered to speak, "Always, Boss."

**Cho, Austin **

Cho went home for a few hours' sleep before relieving Wylie. Unfortunately, Wylie soon called to say he'd been ordered to work the dragnet. Wylie dashed off when Cho arrived to resume his vigil, a careful 20 feet away. The FBI agent expressionlessly noticed it all.

A half hour later Wayne Rigsby appeared and leaned against the wall on the other side of Abbott's room. Rigsby gave Cho a small nod.

Cho phoned Rigsby with the burner cell, hoping he had his with him_. "Why're you here?"_

Rigsby walked down the hall to be less obvious_. "Figured you could use a hand. Who you guarding?"_

_ "My boss. He's on our side now, was almost killed. Don't know who to trust."_

_ "Our friends okay? They're on the news. Someone's framing them."_

_ "Yeah. We need him–" Cho nodded toward Abbott's room, "to clear them when he wakes up. One perp's in custody, other's at large."_

_ "How can I help?"_

_ "Help guard. You armed?"_

_ "Yeah."_

_ "Relieve me at four." _

_ "Will do. I'm gonna nap till then."_

_ "Hey – thanks."_

_ "Back at four." _

Cho put the phone away and settled back in the chair. Abbott's odds had just improved. And theirs.

**Chain Motel, North Texas**

Lisbon wearily set one suitcase on a luggage rack, the other on a dresser, and the fast food on the tiny table. She stepped back to their car parked right outside their ground-floor motel room.

She caught herself before calling him by name. 'Jane' was way too memorable for a man's name if overheard. "We're here. C'mon." Jane obediently followed and waited as she closed and bolted the door. She slumped against the door and rotated her head to relieve tension in her neck and shoulders. It was over three hours since they left – escaped – and Jane was still out of it. _Where'_s_ his head at? _She hoped tea and food might help but couldn't stomach the thought eating before cleaning up. She shed jacket and flip flops then dug a nail brush out of her toiletry kit and led him into the bathroom.

Lisbon faced him squarely in too-bright fluorescent light that leached pink from their skin and highlighted blue-black smudges under their eyes. With false heartiness, "Let me help you clean up."

She might say Jane needed help stripping to his boxers, but really meant she had to do it for him. He had that thousand-yard stare that had always scared the hell out of her when his family's memory or Red John surfaced in the past. Confoundingly, he simply stared at his open hands. It took the brush and soapy water to scrub the rust colored ... matter from his fingernails and creases in his hands. She used a washcloth to clean off smears of blood on his stomach and knees.

_ Fischer's blood_, she thought, suddenly nauseated. Kim Fischer was an antagonist who had hurt Jane, but - _Jane desperately pressed into the gore, trying to stem the bleeding, blood leaking between his fingers - _She shook the image from her head. _Fischer didn't deserve to be shot. Like Bosco... _She turned away, closing her eyes till she regained her composure. Grabbing a towel she dried his hands. She looked up and caught Jane's gaze but he instantly looked away. Still she glimpsed grief. Hatred. Shame. _Grief from remembering his family's murder - okay. Shame? Hatred? For what?_ Finished she nudged him toward the little table so they could eat. Wordlessly he pulled free to lie on the bed on his stomach, facing away. He heaved a huge sigh and covered his head with a pillow. _Can't get clearer than that._ Maybe sleep was the best thing for him. She threw the comforter over him against the chill conditioned air and turned down the lights.

Lisbon clicked the TV on while she ate, using captioning with the audio muted. She and Jane were in the local news about the attack on Abbott and Fischer. _No announcement Kim died._ She fingered her cross and sent a prayer. On the way to Abbott's Jane said Kim's _dad_ was Blake, but there was nothing about him or the shooter in the news. The story was filmed with long lines at checkpoints serving as a backdrop. Lisbon knew the dragnet would be based on how far they might have traveled. By stopping early, the net would have moved beyond them. So long as no one had sighted them, so long as no one knew where they headed, the cops' task was gargantuan soon to be impossible. In two hours they could have traveled 140 miles. The circumference of their dragnet would be almost 900 miles surrounding an area over 61,000 miles. The search would be scaled back to checkpoints on the interstate and major highways. Avoid those, avoid being "made," and their chances of getting to South Dakota were good. They would alter clothes and appearance before moving on in the morning.


	24. Chapter 24 - Complications

**Chapter 24 - Complications**

**Chain Motel, North Texas**

Lisbon stretched, awake but not happy about it. She snuggled deeper under the sheets until yesterday's events crashed into her thoughts and snapped her eyes open. She gasped at the stranger and grabbed her gun.

Startled he turned, "Lisbon?" and shrank from the gun.

She returned the gun to the nightstand and shoved back to sit up. "Dammit, Jane, you scared the hell out of me."

Recovering, "Good morning to you too." He handed her a Styrofoam cup from which rose the enticing scent of coffee. She popped off the lid and greedily slurped. At her critical examination he spread his hands and turned in a circle.

"Transformation complete."

"Geez, didn't even recognize you."

"Rather the point," he smiled, unloading food from a paper bag.

Less thrilled than he apparently was, she grimaced. "You buzz cut your hair."

Now seated at the small table, "Also dyed it." Her eyes were drawn to the fawn-brown color of the bare quarter-inch remaining length. Eyebrows were the same color. The hair on his arms and legs was lighter but that would pass for the work of the sun on his somehow perpetually tanned body.

She used the bathroom, returned and joined him at the tiny table. Jane was digging into a clamshell containing a double order of scrambled eggs. Thoughts flicked to last night, his shock, skipping dinner, tuning out. She eyed him suspiciously. _This is too easy._ She asked, "Any good?" reaching for the pancakes.

"Good enough. On the road the consistency of chains is a blessing." He frowned as he sipped the tea. "Except for the crime served in this cup."

She snorted and got up. "I know you packed tea." He brightened as an electric kettle and cup and saucer appeared from behind her suitcase.

"I knew there was a reason I–" his voice hitched, barely noticeable except she did notice, "–love you, woman."

Back turned to him, she frowned. _Something happened in that puzzle palace called a brain. Definitely gotta find out._ Her expression was neutral when she returned to her breakfast.

Jane silently went through his tea-making ritual, so happy to have real tea he didn't complain about the lack of milk. He sipped with eyes closed in bliss then ventured, "How do you feel about short blond hair?" smirking when she sprayed coffee on her pancake.

"For _me?"_ she sputtered. "It's great – on you!"

He leaned forward. "Your hair is a major defining feature. An unaffordable luxury right now." He raised his eyebrows in silent entreaty as he dipped his head to catch her gaze.

She chewed a bite to stall. "You're serious?"

"Afraid so."

She grimaced. "Okay. Don't know how good a cut I can give myself."

"Oh, I'll cut it. Dye it too."

"Since when?"

"Sam let me help as a kid. You learn a lot about hair from a black woman."

She sighed, resigned to her hair's fate. "You damn well better know what you're doing."

He grinned, eyes twinkling in amusement, "Relax. It grows back."

She grumbled while cleaning up from breakfast, "A month for you. A year for me."

Two hours later Lisbon looked at her reflection and ruffled her hair. The dark blonde color wasn't bad and though she'd never admit it, the inch long cut styled into soft spikes with mousse was both edgy and attractive. "It's different all right." Jane handed her ear cuffs and a fake pierced lip ring. She turned to face him, "You're kidding."

"Want you to look as far from 'cop' as possible." Jane fished three rings from a pocket and put them on the counter. She looked at him without saying anything. Neutrally, "Need to sell us as a couple on vacation." He picked up his wedding band and slid it on his ring finger. It was the first time since they'd become a couple. His face was expressionless.

He didn't offer to put the rings on her finger. She wasn't the type to be overwhelmed by symbolism, but it was unsettling. _A decade. Two years exiled. And now when we – oh crap, just do it, Teresa._ She swallowed, picked them up and put them on.

Faintly apologetic, Jane explained, "Our biggest risk is that they're looking for a man and a woman traveling together. Everyone gets impressions, 'reads' people–" he gave her a cocky grin, "just not as well as I do. Helps them believe our cover story."

Without commenting she unlatched the chain and put her cross in her pocket – another unnecessary identifying detail. "I get it. C'mon. Let's get on the road." She dressed in a patterned tee, shorts, flip-flops and the sunhat he liked. He looked the part of vacationing husband in a baseball cap, tee, cargo shorts and sandals. Both donned plain-glass sunglasses that darkened in strong light. The hair clippings and blood-stained pants found their way into a store dumpster. The morning was well along by the time they left, but the disguise was worth a few hours' delay.

**Lisbon and Jane, Driving North**

Lisbon drove first. The day was bright and yesterday's rain reduced the humidity. A call came in on her burner phone a half-hour into the drive and she put it on speaker.

"Hey."

"–Morning."

"–Hi."

Cho was relieved to hear Jane this time. "Quiet night at the hospital, no change." Cho had called Rigsby first. "The dad was killed this morning." Wylie's call woke him with the news.

"How?"

"Man claiming to be his attorney met with him. He was found dead in detention an hour later. Poison."

"These people know their way around drugs," Jane offered. "Professionals, not cult members."

"Makes sense. Argued your case with the agent handling the investigation. Told him the crime scene doesn't square with the dad's statement. And you have no motive."

"And?" Lisbon needed to hear it.

"Didn't buy it. Thinks you're with the conspiracy, especially since you ran."

"There's that." Jane said slowly, "We need the man you're guarding back in this game."

"I know. My old partner flew in to help. –Your plans?"

"Unchanged," answered Jane. "Hope to bluff our way in tomorrow."

"Any orders?"

Lisbon replied, "Stick with it and be careful. Say 'hi' for us."

"I'll call if anything changes." Cho disconnected.

They exchanged glances.

Lisbon slowly, "Blake is eliminating loose ends. No matter what."

Jane nodded. "Despite running scared, despite all the dead bodies, they're confident they can remain hidden."

"Bad sign. The FBI won't solve this going by the book if the leads keep ending up dead. We need a game-changer."

"Planning on one."

She glanced away from the road at him. _Determined. Confident._ "Care to share?"

He shook his head. "Won't know till we get there. I predict a fascinating conversation with Brother Cooper," mocking the "Visualize family" affectation.

**Brackenridge Hospital, Austin**

Rigsby smothered a yawn as he marked his fifth hour of watching Abbott's door, guarded by an equally bored FBI agent. The shift change had been followed by the bustle of nurses making their morning rounds to check on patients and take vitals. Patient breakfast trays were delivered in tall insulated carts. Trays were distributed and the smell of food made his stomach rumble. Cho would relieve him soon and he looked forward to breakfast. The elevator doors swished open to the welcome sight of his former partner. He rose to meet Cho.

An orderly clad in baggy, pastel-colored tunic and pants carried a tray to Abbott's door and paused to talk with the agent. The orderly's body blocked the agent from view. The man then entered with the tray. Rigsby glimpsed a still-unconscious Abbott as he walked past the self-closing door. The FBI agent was seated with his head lolling back and eyes closed. _Food? When he's out?_ The clues fell into place._ Shit!_

Rigsby pivoted and shook the agent's shoulder. The agent fell off to the side, unconscious and limp. Rigsby pulled his gun and grabbed the doorknob. He overbalanced as the orderly pulled open the door. The man kicked Rigsby's feet from under him and rushed past with a vicious jab to the solar plexus.

Cho shouted, "Need help!" and took chase. Then, "Stop or I'll shoot!" _Damn, too crowded! _A nurse dodged the wrong way and they fell in a tangle. Cho scrambled up, saw the closing stairwell door and followed.

Rigsby yelled for help as Abbott's heart monitor flatlined. He was crowded back against the windows as the room suddenly filled with white figures and noise. He saw a syringe under the visitor's chair, picked it up with a handkerchief, and sniffed. _Almond!_

Loudly, "Check for cyanide! He's been poisoned."

The doctor rattled off orders. A crash cart arrived and Rigsby was shoved out the door to make room, almost tripping over more doctors working on the fallen agent. The agent had been stabbed. A stiletto was slipped up under the ribs to pierce his heart, killing him instantly. Leaving the knife in place prevented most bleeding, giving the assassin time to go after Abbott before alarm was raised. Doctors and nurses reluctantly stood and stepped back. The agent was beyond help in this world.

Cho returned after losing his quarry. On his cell phone, "Abbott was just attacked at the hospital ... Agent's dead. ... Start a search, dammit! ... By Abbott's room." He ended the call and slammed his open hand against the wall in frustration.

Hospital security charged up. One assumed guard duty for Abbott while two others frisked Cho and Rigsby and took their weapons. They were cuffed and herded into an empty room. They'd be detained till the FBI arrived to sort it out.

**Lisbon and Jane, Driving North**

The sun was high and heat waves shimmered from the pavement. Lisbon idly watched as they ate up miles and miles of flat landscape. Sere brown fields were sporadically relieved by green trees around houses. Sinuous ribbons of green indicated rivers and streams that flowed even in the height of summer. Only a fraction of her attention was on the scenery. _What the hell happened yesterday? Maybe if I get him talking... _

"There's a reason it's called the Great Plains," Jane said, reading her superficial thought while giving most of his attention to driving.

Lisbon glanced at him, his changed appearance still jarring. She was letting him share driving the 1,300 miles to the South Dakota state pen in Sioux Falls. ID requirements and security put flying out of the question. "Not much to look at." She shifted toward him, relieving muscles too long in one position. "How did you know Fischer's father was Blake?"

"Strongly _suspected_," he corrected. "Too many coincidences."

"Such as?"

"Began with detention. Didn't make sense that rigid, by-the-book Kim would illegally drug me. Not unless someone she respects encouraged her and supplied the drugs. Cho said her father was CIA."

"That's quite a leap to a Blake connection," she murmured.

"Crooked is crooked," he argued a little sheepishly, thinking of how it applied – used to apply – to him. "Criminal acts upped the odds he was Blake."

"And?"

"Finding the mole Waller seemed too easy. Once again, Kim is in the middle of it. Blake would be smart to sacrifice one mole to protect a more valuable one. Quiñones's murder proved there was second, someone close to Abbott who would know about the arrest. Blake planned the hit and paid off that retired cop just hours after the arrest. –Then Abbott's old friend Don Fischer just happened to be in town the same day? And wanted to have dinner? Suspicious."

"Yet Kim Fischer _isn't_ Blake?"

"Her father would get useful information just from her travel schedule. Cities Abbott would be working, maybe the odd detail she let slip. I never read that she was-" he took a deep breath, "_is_ Blake."

"How'd they know we'd try to rescue Abbott? And frame us?"

He snorted. "I should have seen it coming. I asked Abbott's admin Lira where he was so I could give him the drive. She told me Abbott was dining with Fischer. She must have called to let Abbott know I was coming. Abbott mentions us – or me. Don Fischer alerts his Blake partner to frame us at Abbott's house."

"I'll give 'em quick on their feet."

"Professionals."

She frowned at a sudden thought. "Why was Kim there if she's not Blake?"

"Bad luck." Her bloody body flashed in his mind's eye. "Very bad luck. Maybe Lira mentioned the dinner and she decided to tag along, see her dad."

"What do you think happened before we got there?"

Jane delayed answering as a detour claimed more attention. Distracted, "What do you think?"

Lisbon closed her eyes to better remember the scene. "Abbott was cuffed. By Don Fischer or the accomplice. If it was staged, whoever shot Abbott and Kim did it with the empty Glock left behind." She grimaced in disgust. "You think her father shot her?"

Jane spared a glance away from the road. "Hope not. Couldn't tell without reading him and now he's dead."

Grimly, "Assume not. Accomplice goes to shoot Abbott but ... Kim tries to stop him, spoils his aim. He shoots her. Don Fischer is bashed over the head, don't know if it's before or after Kim was shot. Don Fischer isn't seriously injured. Wakes up and frames us." She looked at Jane, green eyes wide. "What else can he do? Frame us. Hope his accomplice frees him by posing as his attorney. Then disappear."

Jane finished. "Only the second man poisons him, ties up another loose end. –There's no downside for Blake. You and I are under suspicion unless Abbott or Kim clears us."

"Jane, the forensic evidence will contradict Don Fischer's claims. Cho already pointed that out."

He shook his head, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Doesn't matter. Unless we're _cleared_, no one will let us anywhere near the Blake case or take us seriously."

She exhaled and slumped against the seatbelt. "So we're back to Abbott."

"Or Kim."

"Crap."

They rode in silence for ten minutes. As they approached a city, Jane exited the interstate to take back roads, thankful that even burner phones included GPS. Any checkpoints would be set up near populated areas.

**FBI, Austin**

Acting Supervising Agent Stevenson sat silently staring at Cho. It had been fifteen minutes and the Asian agent showed no sign of discomfort. –_Hell, no sign of anything_.

Stevenson spoke first. "Agent Cho, why were you were at the hospital when Agent Abbott was attacked? And Agent Tremain murdered?"

"Glad Abbott survived."

Stevenson blinked. _Point to him for picking that up._ "Why were you there?"

"Guarding Abbott."

"You're suspended. Two of your team members are implicated in wounding Agents Abbott and Fischer yesterday. Lisbon's prints are on the gun that shot them. That suggests a different reason."

Calmly, "Other forensic evidence refutes Fischer's-"

"-_Donald_ Fischer?"

"-statement." Cho nodded. "My team was framed."

"Why? Who?"

"Blake Association."

"Why would Blake care?"

"The CBI team I worked for exposed Blake."

"Tell me your account of what happened. Start when you went to the hospital."

"I started guarding Abbott's room last night just after 10 p.m. Agent Tremain frisked me. Had me stay 20 feet away."

"Hospital security found a weapon on you."

"I later brought my personal firearm to stop anyone who might attack Abbott."

"Where does Wayne Rigsby come into the picture?"

"He's my partner from the CBI. Flew in from California to help. He relieved me at about 4 a.m. I was about to relieve him when Rigsby realized an orderly was going to kill Abbott."

"Then?"

"The orderly ran out of Abbott's room. I pursued him but lost him in the stairwell. After, I reported the attack and requested a search for the assassin."

"What were your prints doing on the knife that killed Tremain?"

Cho looked at him a moment. "That's incorrect. My prints weren't on a knife. I had nothing to do with Tremain's death."

"How did Rigsby realize there was an attack?"

"Ask him."

"You don't know but acted on his say so?"

"He was my partner for ten years. _Our team exposed Blake._ Abbott spent months investigating and cleared us all."

Stevenson leaned forward. "I don't care if the pope blessed you. The involvement of you, your team, and now a former partner in this is highly suspicious. You remain suspended pending the investigation. Do not leave Austin."

"How's Abbott?"

"That's confidential. Stay away from this case."

Cho stood. "My firearm?"

Stevenson's lips tightened. "In Evidence till this case is resolved. Dismissed." Stevenson rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he watched Cho retrieve his personal effects and leave. _This team is either guilty as hell or running their own Blake investigation. Wish I knew which._

Cho found Rigsby waiting outside the FBI entrance.

"Now what?"

"Get our cars. Get new phones. Find out what's going on."

"I need to eat, man. Was starving four hours ago."

A half hour later they were seated on the patio of a nearby restaurant. Cho finally placed his call.

"Wylie, can you take a break outside?" It was close enough to lunchtime so ducking out wouldn't be suspicious.

A few minutes later Wylie called back on his burner cell. Cho put it on speaker.

"What's your status?"

"Acting SA has me doing scut work. Nothing connected to the attacks, though."

"What do you know?"

Wylie had heard about the attack at Abbott's house and the attack this morning. Cho filled in the details.

"What's his condition?"

"You guys saved his life. Rumor has it he was poisoned but they treated him in time thanks to you."

"He'll make it?

"Yeah. He got a concussion when a bullet grazed his head yesterday but they think that'll be okay. The poisoning thing set him back. They've got him sedated."

"Our female colleague?"

"Bad shape. Think she'll make it, but no one's a hundred percent on that. –Was her dad really a – uh, bad guy?"

"Looks like it. What about security?"

"Two attacks in two days. Never saw the bureau in such high gear. _Two_ guards each, 24-7. Room numbers are secret. The Acting SA is doing an over-kill – sorry, I uh–"

"Yeah. –Any progress on your other project?"

"Got another name."

"Sit on it. Need to hope they recover. Hope the rest of our team gets somewhere with the other idea."

"Anything I can do?"

"See what you can find out about her dad. May not be much, but worth checking. Cover your tracks. Remember you might be targeted."

Wylie swallowed audibly. "Will do. –Um, glad you saved him."

"Later."

Cho placed his next call to Lisbon.

"Boss, we've got a problem..."


	25. Chapter 25 - The Sick Rose

**Chapter 25: The Sick Rose**

**Omaha, NE**

Lisbon and Jane slid into the booth, glad to be out of the car, glad to be _still_ after eleven hours on the road. They placed their drink orders while perusing the menu. Lisbon removed her glasses then put them back on after a look from Jane. Neither _liked_ wearing them, but they made a big difference in appearance.

"Saigon, huh? Leave it to you to find a Vietnamese restaurant in Omaha."

He looked up. "We can go elsewhere if-"

"–It's fine. Just surprised it took Nebraska to give it a try." She took a sip of her beverage.

He looked at her glass with dismay. "I'm all for your drinking tea, but Thai iced tea? It's almost syrup," he shuddered. "With condensed milk and–" he sniffed, "anise, cloves, and – cardamom?"

She grinned, "Mr. Adventurous."

Stiffly, "There's a reason why classic tea is classic, my dear."

Lisbon looked at him fondly as he leaned back and sipped his _classic_ hot tea with pleasure. Softly, "Like old times." They'd worked cases for the Austin FBI, but this was the first extended drive she and Jane had shared. She said, "Missed you," as he looked up.

"And I you. You have no idea how much." Out of detention for months, he still sometimes woke in panic, afraid his bed was warmed by tropical climes instead of the woman he loved, that dawn would expose dream to be nightmare as it had daily for two years.

They paused while their food was served till they were alone again.

Almost whispering, "Your letters gave me a clue." Looking up she swallowed a lump born of 700 days of loneliness. "I don't know how I would have managed otherwise. I–" She looked aside to regain her composure.

"Hey." His hand closed over hers and his thumb soothingly stroked her wrist. "You have me in person now. Lucky you," he flashed a cheeky grin and his hand slid down to caress her fingers. Randomly, "I like the location of the diamond."

She lifted her hand and peered at the engagement ring. –_Prop, just a prop,_ she reminded herself. "What, an unusual setting or-"

Jane clarified, "On your finger, my dear. _That_ location." A moment later he cleared his throat and spoke at normal volume. "Sorry – lousy timing. Excuse me." He rose and left for the men's room.

She shook the daydreams from her head. _Damn man always has me off balance. -He's right. Neither time nor place._ She had eaten much of her entree and sampled his by the time he returned.

He reseated himself and resumed their conversation with a tight smile. "Traveling around together _is_ nice."

She frowned, "Except for the conspiracy."

His smile fell, "That is a worm in the rose."

She looked at him, fathomless green pools drinking him in. _William Blake's poem. Why's he thinking about Red John?_ The implication didn't strike her till later. Quietly, "What if Abbott doesn't recover, can't clear us?" Cho's call weighed on them.

Jane pressed his lips together. Clipped, "Makes it harder."

"'Harder'? Not impossible?"

"Harder," tone certain. "Cooper will know who infiltrated Visualize, who's Blake."

"Why would he tell us? Why would the FBI believe us?"

Jane gave her a piercing look. "He'll tell us because I'll read what he wants and give it to him."

Pushing him, "Money? Freedom? What if he wants Visualize back?"

Jane shook his head slightly. "Anyone will do anything if you meet his greatest desire. I can get him money, engineer an escape."

With a pang she realized he had done these things.

He exhaled, irritated at the thought, then continued. "It would take time, but I could get control of Visualize."

She sat back, swallowed and looked away. "I know you could, Jane." She slumped at the thought of another protracted quest, of more years of living dangerously instead of living. "And the FBI?"

Jane sipped his tea, calming himself. "The FBI is the easiest option but not the only one. We could publicize the names - newspapers or just the internet. Blake's greatest asset is secrecy, the veil of respectability. It would be messy and incomplete, but publicity would break the back of the conspiracy. Legitimate authorities would be forced to act."

She sighed, "If we don't get them all, we're still in danger. Us. Our friends."

Evenly, "Which is why we see Cooper and hope Abbott recovers."

"Yeah."

They ate in silence for awhile. Jane's mood turned melancholy.

Hesitantly, "What if we just - quit?" his expression wistful and tired and hopeful all at once. "Teresa, we could disappear, live anywhere. We don't need to work. We could just ... live."

Seconds accumulated into minutes before she answered. "One flaw: Us. Neither of us can sit idle. We'd be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives-" He opened his mouth to object, but she overrode him. "–Or we'd live someplace without extradition and never feel at home. What about Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby? My brothers and their families? Sam and Pete and Danny? They'd be in danger and we'd never see them." She reached and held his hand tightly. "The team is your family now. You were lonely in Venezuela, had no reason to get up. I won't say never, Patrick, but it isn't something I want. ... Do you?"

He shifted to relieve the strain. Resigned, "No. I want to build a life together _here_." Determined, "We'll have to succeed."

Finished, they rose to leave. Jane left cash to pay the bill. She put an arm around his waist, he, her shoulders. "Together we can do anything, Jane. C'mon. Long day tomorrow."

**FBI, Austin**

"Wylie–" Wylie startled as he left the building at day's end.

"Cho. What's up?"

"Rooming together. Starts now."

"Wh-what?"

"Keep up, Wylie. One week, six dead bodies, two attempts. Let's not increase the tally."

Equal parts reluctant and eager, "You mean–"

"Yeah. Joined at the hip outside the building."

Wylie looked around, puzzled. "Uh, what about your partner from California?"

"On a plane. Protect his wife and kids."

"Oh."

It proved surprisingly workable. Wylie's idea of a fun evening was spending hours communing with computers, relieving Cho of the need for small talk. Computer nerds were rapidly rising in his esteem (aside from Grace Van Pelt who had always been a special case). It didn't hurt that Wylie had decrypted another three names.

**Brackenridge Hospital, Austin**

The tall woman pulled a chair as close to the bed as possible. Her husband was a silhouette against white, white sheets, still and vulnerable. Utterly unlike him. The white bandage was stark on his head, though a soft fuzz was already showing on his shaved scalp. She held his hand, just waiting. Hoping. Praying.

His world was pain and phantasms – fleeting images, sounds, thoughts, feelings. He had been shot once, was it 2007?, and recognized the sensation. The pain was there, but so remote it was insignificant: He was drugged to his eyeballs with painkillers. Dennis Abbott had always been straight-arrow, but this almost – almost – made sense of drug addiction. He frowned and instantly regretted even that slight movement. It was a wonder his head didn't explode. _Found the limits of painkillers. _Okay, his head was messed up. Concussion? _But why does _everything_ hurt?_ He turned that thought over for awhile. It eventually occurred to him to open his eyes, maybe ask – someone? ... Someone was holding his hand, rubbing his arm. He gradually reconnected with his body, his senses. _Perfume. ... Lena's perfume!_ That motivated him to undertake the grueling effort to open his eyes.

He instantly regretted it. Daggers of light stabbed his eyes.

"Dennis?"

He groaned. _Why is she shouting?_

"Talk to me, Deni." He realized she actually was whispering. "It's okay to wake up."

He grimaced - _doubtful_ – but tried anyhow. This time the light was merely an assault. Lena Abbott noticed him wince and hurriedly turned off the room lights. She flipped on the bathroom light but pulled the door almost closed, plunging the room into twilight.

"Water?" he croaked. She poured a small amount and held it to his lips. The top half of the bed was raised slightly.

"How you doin', Baby? I leave the country and you get hurt." She kissed his cheek.

His smooth skin wrinkled in a grimace. Clearer now, "M okay. –Whahappened?"

"A bullet grazed your head. Doctors say you'll be all right."

Dennis mulled that. "What else? Somethin' more."

"Oh, Dennis," she swallowed roughly, determined to remain calm. "Someone tried to poison you, but it's okay. The doctors got here in time."

That didn't make a lot of sense. He was in a hospital. Doctors were always here. _Poison? Who, why? Dammit, there should've been a guard._ His irritation required too much energy. He let it go and slid back into sleep.

Relieved tears fell with soft taps onto the sheet.

**Hotel Deco XV, Omaha, NE**

The door clicked shut cuing Lisbon's umbrage.

"Geez, Jane. You pick the most expensive hotel. We could've stayed at a HoJo's or something reasonable that–"

Patience exhausted, "First, there aren't any in this city. Second, it's _Omaha._ I couldn't splurge if I tried!"

Urgently, "We don't even look like we belong here." She gestured at her shorts and flip flops.

He sighed, dropped the luggage and pulled her into a hug. "Will you relax?! We look like every vacationing couple in the country. Newsflash – the affluent care about comfort. They don't give a damn what anyone thinks." He smothered any further objections with kisses. He turned them so she could see the suite beyond.

"Nice, don't you think?" he teased gently.

Grudgingly, "Guess so. –You don't think this place ups our risk of being made?"

"Not at all," he murmured. "Opposite of where cops would look." He gave her a final kiss and released her. "I think we have a date with a long shower and that lovely bed."

She suppressed a huge yawn. "Sounds good." Anxious again, "What's the plan when we reach Sioux Falls?"

He nudged her toward the bathroom. "Showers first. Then we'll talk."

This time the yawn prevailed. "Okay." She dug nightclothes and toiletry kit from her suitcase and made her way tiredly into the bathroom. He timed it so room service delivered ice cream, fresh fruit, espresso, and tea after they had both showered. Lisbon was so caffeine addicted that it wouldn't keep her awake.

It was pushing midnight by the time Lisbon crawled into bed and clicked off the light. She snuggled up to Jane, head on his chest with one arm and one leg thrown over his body. Her hand idly stroked his chest. He had gotten used to sleeping in just boxers, though he warned her the pajamas would be back in cold weather. She relished the greater skin-to-skin contact.

Drowsing and relaxed, she blinked, suddenly realizing his slip at dinner. _He said 'a worm.' _'A'_ worm, not _'the'_ worm, meaning there's more than Blake bothering him. What?_ And that led led directly to the flashing neon fractures in Patrick Jane's life. His family's murder. Perhaps killing Sheriff Hardy and Timothy Carter. Killing Thomas McAllister._ And where does Kim Fischer fit into this –Jane pushing down hard, blood and gore smeared midway up his forearms, shirt and pant legs soaked with blood, scent of blood and crap heavy in the air–_

"Jane?" She was pretty sure he was awake.

"Mm?"

"What freaked you out about Kim Fischer?" She could feel him instantly tense.

"Why do you ask?"

She sighed, "You were out of it for hours. Something's going on."

Curt, tone and muscles tense, "I don't like blood. You know that."

"I know that," she agreed calmly. "But this was more. Your family? McAllister? What's the connection?" She could hear him swallow.

Throat tight, "Can we just drop it?"

She turned over and clicked on the bedside lamp. Propped on an elbow looking down at him, "Jane – Patrick – it's not good to bottle stuff up–"

"Pot to kettle," eyes closed, avoiding her gaze.

Deliberately low key, "Exactly. I know personally it's not good. We're doing well. Don't want to go back to masks and hiding."

He puffed his cheeks out and slowly exhaled. "Teresa, it's after midnight and we have a lot riding on tomorrow. I really don't want to talk about this."

She looked down at him, still propped on her elbow, wondering what had thrown him so off balance. His past would be enough to unhinge most people, except he wasn't "most" people. _A dozen years since their murder, countless bloody crime scenes, two years since he killed McAllister. What's going on, why now?_ She finally said, "We don't have to deal with this now. But it's important we do sometime." She leaned over and kissed him tenderly. "I love you. And I'll figure it out eventually." She clicked off the light and lay back, nestling against him.

He figured she was asleep when her breathing slowed and evened out. He whispered to himself, "That's what I'm afraid of."

Her eyebrows furrowed. _One more clue._


	26. Chapter 26 - Working Outside the Box

**Chapter 26 - Working Outside the Box**

**Omaha, NE**

Lisbon looked in the mirror with approval. The short blonde hair was still a shock. (Glimpses of herself in shiny surfaces repeatedly surprised her. Jane, of course, laughed.) But today she had to look like a cop, an FBI agent and so was back to normal work clothes with her badge and gun. No glasses, no rings or funky jewelry. Brushed back with a little mousse worked in, her hair merely looked like the soft, arched bristles of an ornamental grass. If anything, she looked vaguely butch – definitely feeding a stereotype, but a useful one for today. Jane, on the other hand, was troubled. Despite the buzz cut and clunky glasses, his looks and expensive suit shouted male model _posing_ as an agent. She bit the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing out loud. She enjoyed his disgruntled expression, just didn't want to rub it in.

Unconscious of her amusement Jane grimaced and said, "Won't cut it, Lisbon. We'll need to stop at a men's store, car rental, and home improvement place in Sioux Falls."

Biting back a grin she looked at him critically, "Guess cop really isn't your calling. Funny – if it wasn't important." He just grunted.

They were on their way by nine after breakfast in the hotel restaurant. They'd arrive around noon.

**Cho, Austin, TX**

It was mid-morning. After dropping Wylie off at the FBI, Cho went to his apartment to read the forensics report Wylie electronically pilfered for him, but was interrupted by a burner call. _ Jane._

"Hey. ... Hope it goes well. ... I can do that. ... Got it. If you call, I'll assume it's for verification. ... I'll find out. ... Later. Good luck." After disconnecting Cho anonymously called the Austin FBI and recorded the snippets needed. He was all set if Jane called.

Cho returned to the report. Other than Lisbon's prints on that gun, he'd have no trouble shredding the theory that Lisbon and Jane attacked Abbott. The other evidence just didn't fit: Location of shell casings, bullets from two other weapons – Lisbon's service piece and an as-yet undiscovered gun, bullet holes in the SUV and Citroen (which had been discovered in the search, of course). Plus someone – he guessed Jane – had tried to staunch Kim's bleeding. It was the only reason she was alive when the ambulance arrived.

Cho's respect for Kim Fischer plunged after her despicable abuse of a detainee (never mind that the detainee was his friend). He felt sorry for her anyway. She would likely survive only to face a dead father who increasingly looked like an accomplice to attempted murder. The detention debacle, likely exploitation for info on the Blake case, and then attempted murder added up to a shattering betrayal by her father. Cho no more believed in convenient coincidences than Jane. Her father was just too _conveniently_ involved in too many ways. If the FBI grapevine was right, she had no one else. Her secondary emergency contact (since the first, her father, was dead) was an elderly aunt who was too frail to travel to Austin. Cho's initial take on Kim was a straight, ambitious cop. Her fate was a pity and a caution about misplaced trust.

His cell vibrated. _Sacramento area code. Not Jane._ "Cho." He answered and put it on speaker so he could continue skimming the report.

"Agent Cho, this is Madeline Hightower, CIB."

He dropped the report. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Agent Abbott is unavailable, so I'm passing this along to you." She paused a moment. "J.J. LaRoche and I have each been attacked, probably by Blake." He could hear her 'tsk' of disgust, "–And a Red John disciple or copycat just murdered a woman in San Francisco."

"Director Hightower, you need to know I'm suspended pending investigation into the attack on Abbott."

Brusquely, "I've seen the news, Agent. This is a professional courtesy for people I trust, not an official contact. The Blake mess is heating up, more dangerous than ever."

"What do you need from me?"

"Warn anyone who might be targeted."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She paused until he wondered if she'd hung up. "I'm glad your ... group is tackling this. There's a lot more to be done, Agent."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Be safe." She disconnected.

Cho used the burner to call the Rigsby's and Lisbon. He also called Wylie and asked him to pass along word to Abbott's Blake team.

They needed a break. Soon.

**Brackenridge Hospital, Austin**

"...test results came back normal, Agent Abbott–"

"–Doctor, do you expect long term effects from the-" Lena Abbott's voice caught, "cyanide poisoning?"

"No. If the patient survives without undue damage from oxygen deprivation, there are usually no lasting effects." He waited for any further questions about the poisoning, then turned back to his patient. "You are also recovering from a serious concussion. Absolutely no strenuous physical activity. Relax, avoid physical or mental stress, get plenty of sleep, and no driving till all symptoms are gone. If pain or symptoms worsen, immediately see a doctor. Here is a prescription for pain relief. –Questions?"

"–Thank you."

And Lena's, "–We appreciate it so much."

"You're welcome." The doctor shook their proffered hands and left.

Abbott slowly straightened, wavering after losing the steadying support of the bed. His wife grasped his upper arm. He took a breath and shifted his stance for greater stability. She could see the mantle of responsibility settle on his broad shoulders. He took her hand from his arm, gave a gentle squeeze, and let go. The suit she brought him was immaculate and a smaller, dark beige bandage had replaced the white gauze covering his head wound. He'd been briefed by Acting SA Stevenson that morning and made it clear he was returning to duty immediately, though he would still need to be cleared for field work. Time to resume his role, his responsibilities.

Dennis Abbott stepped out of the hospital room every inch the FBI agent in charge. The guarding agents snapped to attention.

The senior guard stepped forward, "Orders, Sir?"

"I need a lift to the bureau. Main entrance in twenty minutes." Turning to the other agent, "Johnson, you're guarding my wife, starting now. Organize shift coverage with Stevenson."

"Yes, Sir," they chorused.

Abbott stopped briefly at the nursing station for a question then made his way to the elevator.

"Dennis?" Lena asked.

"Better if I do this myself."

"I'll send flowers to her room." Her husband nodded appreciatively. "Is it wise going into the office?"

A corner of his mouth quirked. "Probably not," he rumbled. "But the sooner I get control of this situation the better."

She kissed his cheek. Softly, "Try to take it easy, Babe. Let me know when you'll be coming home." She and Johnson took the next elevator down.

Dennis Abbott stepped off the elevator and headed for the door guarded by two of his agents. Surprise showed in their eyes for a second before they greeted him. He nodded and waved them to resume their posts. Abbott knocked softly and entered.

The woman lay pale and still, enmeshed in a tangle of tubes and wires leading from under the sheet. Her face was turned toward the window, away from anyone who entered.

Quietly, "Kimmie. Wanted to see how you're doing." She jerked around in surprise, wincing from pain. Her tongue nervously wet her lips.

"Dennis?"

He moved to her bedside and pulled up a chair. "How are you?"

"Fine, Sir." Her shakiness belied the words.

He took her hand and squeezed gently. Gruffly, "You've been through hell. Your duty is to rest now, let your body heal." He nodded encouragingly, "I hear you'll make a full recovery."

"Yeah." Her voice was ashes, cold and gray. "Full."

He breathed deeply and broached the reason he came. "You know – about your father, I mean?"

Expressionlessly, "He was killed in holding. Probably the same bastard who attacked you."

"Who attacked _us_," he corrected. "I am sorry, Kimmie."

They sat a while in silence. She finally ventured in a near whisper, "How could I be so stupid? Dad – he lied to me, pumped me for information about the Blake investigation." She half rose till pain shoved her back down, "He set you up to be killed!"

Abbott exhaled slowly, regarding her soberly. "Those are his sins, Kim. You saved my life by spoiling his partner's aim."

Anguished, "I should have _known!_"

Flatly. "How?" Sternly, "I was fooled too. Your dad did good things, _heroic_ things when we worked together 20 years ago. I don't know what happened. Not sure we'll ever know." More gently, "Try to remember the man he was. And know that you are a good agent. You will get past this." After more silence, "I'll help you. You're not alone, Kimmie."

She looked away again and choked out, "Thanks, Dennis. I – I –" She stopped.

He gave her hand a pat and rose. "Rest and heal, Kim. Lena or I will be by until you're out of here. Then you stay with us till you're back on your feet." He stood straighter and said formally, "Thank you for saving my life, Agent Fischer."

She could only nod, staving off tears till the door closed quietly behind him.

**Sioux Falls, SD**

Lisbon and Jane stepped out of a men's store in Sioux Falls. Jane wore his purchases. The middling quality jacket and pants – no vest – were a trifle baggy rather than closely fitted. The black had olive undertones that subtly clashed with his complexion. The solid navy tie looked no different than millions of low-end polyester swaths eagerly gifted by kids at Christmas or reluctantly bought by men for work. Lisbon was impressed. The clothes managed the feat of making Jane look almost ordinary, mildly handsome rather than drop dead gorgeous. Jane frowned at the new black lace-ups that completed his transformation.

"Next stop, home improvement store."

"For?"

"Sandpaper."

Fifteen minutes later Jane used 400-grit sandpaper to subtly age his suit. He also lightly scuffed the shiny shoes on the asphalt pavement.

"I need your driver's license and FBI ID."

"Why?"

"Someone might remember our names from the BOLO." He took her ID and curled the corners and lightly rubbed the center with sandpaper. The faintly abraded plastic surface looked well-worn and obscured much of the detail of her photo and name. "Voila! You can now sign in as 'Tessia Lindon.' Fortunately new hairstyles are common among women." After handing hers back, he used the same technique on his own. "And I, 'Patrick Lane,' recently started wearing glasses and got a haircut."

She looked dubious. "Really think this'll work?"

"By itself, no. But, with boldness, Cho's help, and distractions as needed - of course. Prison guards are far more focused on people breaking out than getting in."

They then rented a black SUV, justified by Jane's explanation that all details had to fit: The SUV suited the image of two FBI employees who had flown in to interview a prisoner as part of a national security investigation.

Lisbon and Jane arrived at the century-old state prison in Sioux Falls shortly after lunch. A bored, middle-aged guard manning the outer office barely looked up.

"State your name and business and sign in." He shoved a clipboard and pen toward them through a slot in the bulletproof Lexan barrier.

"Lindon and Lane, FBI. We're here to meet with inmate Jason Cooper." After the guard glanced at badge and ID's, they signed in with their fake names. Wylie had gotten them Cooper's inmate number.

Looking up with a frown. "Paperwork?"

A family photo on his desk showed three kids, including a 20-something woman who was likely his daughter.

Jane answered, equally bored. "Our administrative assistant sent it last week." With fake irritation, he said to Lisbon, "If that intern screwed up again, it'll be her job."

After rifling through a stack of forms the guard said, "Don't have it."

Jane exhaled in annoyance, jaw clenched. "We just spent three hours on a plane for this meeting. How 'bout a break? –The Austin FBI will vouch for us." He pulled his cell phone out and keyed in the number. He left it on speaker.

The guard's eyes flicked to his family photo, then accepted the phone. "This is irregular, but I'll allow it if I get verification. So long as your office faxes the paperwork today."

A call from Jane's burner cell came in to Cho and Cho started the first recording. A female voice responded, "FBI, Austin office. How may I help you?"

"I need to verify that two employees from your office are at the South Dakota state penitentiary to interview inmate Jason Cooper."

Cho played the second recording. "Let me direct your call. One moment please."

Cho spoke next. "This is Supervising Agent Abbott."

"I have two of your agents here to meet with an inmate, but no paperwork. Can you confirm?"

"Agent Lindon and Mr. Lane are assigned to interrogate Jason Cooper for a national security matter. I'll have the paperwork faxed to you shortly. What's your fax number?" If push came to shove, Cho would fax paperwork Wylie had forged for him. _In for a penny..._

The guard waved Jane and Lisbon into the next room through a locked door. Lisbon turned in her weapon and both were searched for contraband. Jane said, "This is a national security matter. We'll need a secure room, no observers unless they have security clearance, no audio or video recording."

The guard scratched his neck. "Regular attorney interview room is soundproof and secure. Guard has to be posted outside, though."

"That will be fine," Lisbon responded.

Ten minutes later they were ushered into a 10' x 10' room with a table and chairs bolted to the floor. A slight, balding man was already present, seated and cuffed to a chair. "Inmate 37-954, Jason Cooper. Knock when you're done." The guard closed and locked the door. Lisbon and Jane sat opposite the prisoner.

Cooper's expression hardened into dislike. Dryly, "Patrick Jane and Agent Lisbon. You've been on the news."

"We're here to talk with you about the Blake Association."

"You got Leader Stiles caught up in an explosion. Your vendetta against Red John ruined everything. I have nothing to say."

Jane responded with an easy smile. "We have things to say to you, Brother Cooper." He let the silence stretch out, till he sensed curiosity. "We're helping the FBI track down Blake leaders. Blake now controls Visualize, doesn't it?"

"You're wasting my time."

"Perhaps it'll be worth your while." Jane leaned forward, arms crossed comfortably on the table. "With Bret and McAllister out of the picture, you took over Visualize. Six months later you were framed for embezzlement and Blake puppet Caleb Grainger took nominal control. Blake's been using Visualize members ever since to replace the foot soldiers the FBI's rounded up. You, Brother Cooper–"

"–Don't call me that!"

"–have a valuable asset. You can ID the Blake leaders, help the FBI arrest them."

Cooper looked balefully at Jane. "I am at quite a disadvantage." He raised his arm and jingled the handcuff. "Blake removes threats. Permanently."

Jane continued unperturbed. "You can't be indifferent to Blake seizing control, deviating from Bret's path. Help the FBI round up Blake leaders and you can regain control. We can protect you."

"Even if you eliminated Blake, got me a pardon, Blake stupidly involved Visualize in highly illegal, high risk ventures. Visualize is under investigation with arrest warrants out for the leadership."

Lisbon spoke, "Arms- and drug-dealing with terrorist organizations. Certainly off Bret's path of enlightened self-awareness."

Jane tried another tactic. "What would Bret Stiles want? What would be a credit to the organization he founded?"

Lisbon sensed sudden tension, excitement in Jane.

Without waiting for a reply, Jane said eagerly, "But perhaps Bret should speak for himself? –That's it, he's still very much in this 'plane of existence,' isn't he?" Jane sat back with a blinding smile, delighted with his discovery.

Cooper sat quietly, eyes down, hands folded in front of him. He finally looked up. "You're wanted by the authorities. Even if your guess were correct, you're hardly able to provide anything of value."

"With due respect, Brother Cooper, I believe your esteemed leader would be the best judge." Jane leaned forward avidly, "Put us in contact."

A long moment later, "Give me a number to call."

Lisbon gave him Cho's regular cell phone number. "This is Agent Cho's number, one of my former agents now with the FBI. We don't know if Blake has it tapped."

Cooper licked his lips. "Would this Cho know his voice?"

"Yes."

"If there's any interest in contact, he'll get a call in the next day or two."

Jane smiled widely. "A pleasure seeing you again, Brother Cooper." Cooper gave him a long-suffering glance. They left without shaking hands.


	27. Chapter 27 - The Worm

**Chapter 27 - The Worm**

**Sioux Falls, SD**

Jane and Lisbon exited the South Dakota State Penitentiary and walked to their SUV.

"It worked!" Lisbon playfully whapped Jane's arm in relief. "You even _felt_ like a real cop!"

"Ten years watching you four, my dear, especially Cho," Jane responded idly, thoughts far away. After getting in, "We need miles between us and this prison. Don't think he will, but Cooper could rat us out."

She sobered. "Back to Austin?"

Jane rubbed his lip. "Too predictable. East or west. Major city for anonymity."

"Think Stiles'll take the bait?"

Jane nodded. "He'll be curious, see how he can use us. His condition is a wild card. He _was_ supposed to be dying."

Dryly, "Flawed prediction apparently." Her forehead creased. "Sure _Stiles _won't turn us in?"

Jane smiled thinly. "He absolutely will if it benefits him. We just make sure we're worth more as allies."

After dropping off the SUV they changed in a convenience store restroom to resume their vacationing couple pose. Then, I-90 east, destination: Chicago.

Cho's burner cell went to voice mail.

"No answer."

Lisbon glanced over. "Can wait till tonight, but what if Stiles calls him?"

"I'll send a text."

**FBI, Austin, TX**

Cho ignored the burner cell vibrating quietly in his pocket. A crowded FBI elevator wasn't the place to answer a call from a fugitive. He stepped off on his floor and ducked into the men's room just as a text came in. He'd missed Jane's call but read the text message before entering Abbott's office.

Cho knocked and opened the door. "Yes, Sir?"

"Enter." Abbott waved him to a seat. They looked each other over for a moment. "It was a hit by Blake," Abbott finally offered. "Don Fischer and an accomplice - CIA or ex-CIA judging by the operation." Grudgingly, "Seems Jane was right."

"Stevenson has a BOLO out on Lisbon and Jane. Can you–"

"Already cancelled. Kim and I cleared them. Your suspension is lifted, effective immediately." Cho didn't say anything. "Where are they, what's your team been doing?"

"Lisbon and Jane are checking out whether Visualize is involved. Went to talk to Jason Cooper–"

Abbott frowned in concentration, "–Convicted of some white collar crime a year or two ago?"

Cho nodded. "Jane thinks he was framed."

"Who, why?"

"Blake takeover of Visualize. Blake's using Visualize members to replace the followers you rounded up."

"Who has Bertram's drive?"

"Wylie's decrypting it."

"And Hastings?"

"Not my call. He needs to hear it from you."

Abbott nodded. _Fair enough._ "I'll brief Hastings. Get him a copy today. Organize a call with your team and me. I need to be in the loop."

"Yes, Sir." Cho hesitated.

Abbott looked up again. "What?"

"Jane thinks Bret Stiles survived. Wants to persuade him to ID Blake leaders."

Abbott exhaled, shook his head, then winced as his pounding headache got worse. "DNA confirmed Stiles died at Jane's house."

Cho shrugged. "Jane's usually right."

"We'll talk about it on the call. Dismissed."

**Driving, I-90 to Chicago**

An hour and 80 boring miles later, Lisbon asked, "Penny for 'em?"

Roused from his thoughts, Jane replied, "Thinking about how to play Stiles."

Eyes on the expressway, "I don't get how he escaped the explosion."

Jane half-turned to face her. "Two clues. First, there were two explosions – a flash-bang followed by the destructive one." She nodded, recalling that terrifying moment. "Second, Bertram, Smith and I were found in a different room though I didn't take them there."

Lisbon gave him an annoyed look. That didn't explain anything – at least not without time to think and work it out.

Reading her, Jane gave her a smug glance and continued, "McAllister knew it would be a showdown. He brought in a concussion grenade, perhaps in the hat he placed off to the side. The flash-bang knocked everyone out. His accomplice pulled Bertram, Smith and me into the other room so we'd survive. Then got McAllister outside and substituted a corpse for his body. The accomplice detonated the destructive explosion in the main room, leaving burnt lumps of flesh presumed to be McAllister and Stiles."

"And Haffner," she added somberly. "He didn't have the tattoo, didn't deserve to be blown up." She scowled. "Who can just order up corpses and plant fake DNA records? And why do it that way?"

"Partridge and maybe a Blake coroner. Why? Because no one hunts for a dead man. The elegant solution. As for Stiles, I always thought he knew too much about Red John. McAllister had something on Stiles and didn't want to waste that asset. His man saved Stiles and planted a second body. McAllister had it planned all along."

Lisbon filled in slowly, "So with McAllister and Stiles off the radar, Bertram and Smith were left as decoys."

"Worked, didn't it?"

"Till you figured out it was McAllister anyhow." She caught the flicker of emotions cross his face. _There it is again. Something to do with McAllister. And Kim._

Jane nodded and looked out the window at the endless flat terrain. A minute later he cleared his throat. "Stiles is alive and I need to figure out how to play him."

She shook her head. "He was s'posed to be terminal two years ago."

He shrugged. "We'll ask. Cooper wouldn't have let on Stiles is alive, much less involved him if Stiles wasn't reasonably healthy, recovered."

"And?"

"Need to figure out what he might want, what we have to offer. How far I can push Abbott." He sighed: Twelve years and it still wasn't over.

Lisbon tipped her head and refocused on driving. _The explosion was two years ago. How can it feel like both yesterday and an eternity ago? _She pondered Jane's explanation as they again fell silent. Once again she reflected how useful the Blake network was for murders and crime.

Halfway through Minnesota Cho called.

"Hey." Jane put his burner cell on speaker.

"Just got done meeting. You're cleared, BOLO canceled. My suspension's lifted."

Cautiously, "That mean he's back in command?"

"Yes. I briefed him on your efforts. Wants a conference call later to get up to speed."

After Cho's call, Jane and Lisbon stopped at the next town and bought new cell phones for the call with Abbott. (Their work phones were left in the Citroen so they couldn't be tracked.) The old burners would be used for private calls with Cho, Wylie and Rigsby.

The call with Abbott settled matters. They would wait in Chicago and, hopefully, fly to meet with Stiles. Wylie and Hastings would decrypt the thumb drive. Cho would work with Abbott's other Blake team until after the Stiles connection.

They reached Chicago by 9 p.m. and took a hotel room near Woodfield Mall.

**Hotel, Schaumberg, IL**

Tired from seven hours of driving, Lisbon and Jane made do with room service. She promised to show him around Chicago if they had time to kill before Stiles called. Meanwhile, it was a relief to no longer worry about the BOLO and no longer be driving around. They turned in at an early 11 p.m.

***** M-Rated *****

Lisbon and Jane lay side by side, exhausted but clean, relaxing in the welcoming embrace of the bed. She was too wound up to sleep and could tell he was also awake from his breathing. Her hand ghosted his chest, cupped his face in a caress. They hadn't been together since before the attack, before he saved Kim Fischer's life. She needed, wanted the comfort ... and pleasure, wanted to comfort and pleasure him after the terror of the attack and strain of running.

Jane tensed at her touch. After a minute he groaned and turned to her, crushing her body to his, bruising her lips in a kiss as much desperate as passionate. They disrobed, shedding clothes as much foreplay as necessity. He tenderly, expertly stroked her body, teased nipples, nipped flesh, nibbled earlobes. She quickly responded, leaning into his touch, rising to meet his caresses. Her groin was soon engorged, throbbing, wet. He barely rubbed her, pierced her with his fingers before she shuddered in pleasure and release and relief. After recovering, she moved to focus on him. He'd have none of it. He gently rebuffed her ministrations to position himself above and between her legs. He entered her slick core with a powerful thrust, set a fast pace. She soon climbed to another orgasm, tipped over the edge. Her contractions pulled him to release with a half-groan, half-shout. He rolled off onto his back and surrendered to sleep. When she regained the ability to move she nestled against his side, head on his chest with an arm and leg thrown over his body. She pulled up the covers to fend off the chill of air conditioning in summer. On the verge of sleep, she stroked his cheek then drew back in surprise. It was wet.

***** End of M-Rated *****

Lisbon awoke, opening her eyes to black. The bed was empty and cold beside her. Looking toward the balcony doors she made out a silhouette against the faint city glow. She pulled her sleep jersey on and padded over, the summer night air comfortable. Her shoulder brushed his as she leaned against the railing. He stiffened at her touch.

Softly, "Hey. 'Eventually' is now."

He swallowed and shook his head, but didn't speak. It felt awkward for the first time since they were together.

After a moment, "Ten years of Red John didn't destroy us. Masks and hiding will. You can't ignore zoning out in a firefight." Intensely, "We _need_ to talk, resolve this – whatever it is."

He glanced toward her, features indistinct in the dark, then quickly looked away. He subtly shrank from her.

"What's going on, Patrick?"

She barely heard his whispered, "I'm afraid." Only silence followed.

Quiet but determined. "Then I'll talk. Stanching Kim's bleeding triggered something. I know you're not good with blood. But it's more than that, more than remembering your family's murder."

He sighed.

"I never asked about McAllister. Thought – _hoped_ \- you put it behind you. ... But it all hooks together, doesn't it?" He licked his lips and swallowed nervously. She continued. "It took me a while. I know McAllister was–" her voiced hitched, "strangled. He was also gut shot. And that's the connection. The blood. The smell. Kim, McAllister, and your family." He moved to go inside, but she caught his arm and gently held him in place, put her other arm around him.

"Patrick, you _have to_ talk about this or it'll poison us. I won't let that happen."

He sighed, wrapping his arms around his chest, holding himself together. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"Try me."

Slowly, almost inaudibly, "I shot McAllister in the chapel. Mocked him when he begged for mercy." Incredulous, "After killing all those people he thought he deserved mercy." He shook his head. "I hesitated and he thought I'd spare him, claimed I was a 'good man.' He was wrong." She winced. "I was savoring it." He looked at Lisbon, face now barely visible as the sky lightened.

Impassively,"Go on."

"A woman, disciple, attacked me and McAllister got away. I chased him till he collapsed. He couldn't run any more, couldn't fight. I straddled the son of a bitch. He was bleeding, smelled like blood and crap and fear. I forced him to admit what he did, asked if he was sorry he killed my wife and daughter. And he was. And if he was afraid to die." Tears streaked unnoticed down his face.

"And I squeezed as hard as I could until the bastard was dead." His knuckles were white as he gripped the railing.

She rubbed his back. Coldly, "He got what he deserved."

"He got what he deserved," he echoed harshly. He turned to face her with eyes of shame and self-loathing. His mouth opened once, twice before he could force out the whisper, "And I reveled in it. _Enjoyed_ killing him." His face crumpled, lips trembling. "I became what I hate." He shuddered. He was the worm in Lisbon's rose, defiled and defiling.

Lisbon rubbed his back until he stilled. She ruthlessly shunted emotion aside for cold logic. "Years ago you said you'd cut him open and watch him die slowly, like he did with your wife and child. –Did you? Cut him over and over to cause pain and prolong it?"

He shook his head. "I strangled him. Felt him die," nauseated by the memory.

"Do you dream about it, take joy? Relive the happy memory?"

He shook his head.

"Want to do it again? Kill for pleasure?"

Jane jerked away, on the verge of vomiting. She let him flee. Panting, he laved his face and cupped his hand to drink, disrupt the emotion. She stood in the bathroom doorway till he straightened and faced her.

Fiercely, "You killed the man who butchered your wife and child, who killed dozens for pleasure. A sadist who tortured and threatened you – us – for ten years. Someone who'd keep killing till he was dead." Slowly, "Taking satisfaction, even pleasure in ending – _that_, doesn't make you a monster. It makes you human." Jane blinked in disbelief. "If pleasure that Red John's dead is wrong, then I'm wrong too. So's Cho. And Rigsby. And Van Pelt."

Hesitantly, "You – you don't hate me for what I did? How I felt?"

She whispered, "God help me, no I don't. I love you."

He slumped as tension drained from him. They held each other long minutes, each supporting the other.

_Now_ they could get past this.


	28. Chapter 28 - Teamwork

**Chapter 28: Teamwork**

**Courtyard Inn, Chicago**

Lisbon woke and stretched. It was mid-morning, not surprising after their intense soul-searching in the dead of night. She slid from under Jane's arm to use the bathroom, taking care not to jostle him. Not only did she balk at waking him after years of insomnia. But she enjoyed his near-feline delight in sleep and had to check the temptation to ruffle his hair, even shorn of curls.

She stepped back into the room and frowned as his gaze raked over her.

Hands behind his head he smiled. "Enjoying the view."

She unconsciously tugged her sleep tee down. "Enjoy it vertically then. I'm famished."

With an exaggerated sigh, "How can one tiny–" she whapped him and he repeated while dodging, "–_tiny_ person eat so much and stay so small?"

"Called 'exercise.' Requires _moving."_ She nudged him in a none too subtle hint.

Jane rose gracefully and made his way to the bathroom. He washed the sleep from his eyes and decided against shaving since he'd done so for yesterday's prison con. Rid of the need for a disguise, he slipped the gold band from his finger. Lisbon silently slid her undercover jewelry toward him.

"Gotta get these back to Pete," he said.

"I never saw Sam wear those."

"She doesn't. Pete won them at poker." She was still confused. "Carnies keep jewelry, gold coins and the like for savings – insurance. Portable and better than paper money."

She shook her head at the paranoia woven into carny culture. Reconsidering, she realized they were hardly unique in distrusting politicians. She almost missed his offhanded comment.

"'Sides. We'll do better when the time comes."

Her eyebrows rose but she let it slide. _Neither the time nor place. _She fumbled with fastening her cross around her neck. Jane moved behind and did it for her. Then his long fingers automatically kneaded out knots of stress in her shoulders. His gaze met hers in the mirror. "We're here till Stiles calls Cho. What's your pleasure, my dear?"

"Breakfast and coffee–"

"Here?"

"Restaurant's better, faster. -Wanna play tourist? Lincoln Park Zoo, Art Institute, Shedd Aquarium... Whatever we have time for." Smoothing her hair, "I could get my hair done back to the right color." He brushed his face across her short tresses while obviously inhaling. She rolled her eyes but a smile quirked her lips. _I really pick 'em. Odd as the day is long._

He murmured, "Or you could leave it. Looks good."

She turned and mock scowled. "Men. You just like the thrill of bedding a woman who looks differe–"

He interrupted with a kiss. "The _thrill_, as you put it, is being with you, only you. It _is_ attractive you know." He resumed kissing.

She pulled away as things began to heat up, mumbling, "Down boy. We're waiting for that call and who knows what else." She returned to the bedroom.

Jane scooped up the jewelry and pocketed it as he dressed. He cleared his throat. "What about visiting family?"

"Too complicated. Don't want them on Blake's radar."

He nodded, lips pursed at the thought.

**Chicago**

The heat had broken, the cool breeze foreshadowing fall. Unlike Sacramento or even Austin, fall was Chicago's _only_ decent season. They drove to the Roselle station after breakfast. Lisbon assured him it'd be far easier to take a commuter train than brave Chicago traffic. Quaint "rush hour" had long been superseded by brutal 24/7 traffic. Jane parked out of the way and they took their small carry-ons with them. Once they flew off to meet Stiles (or, if unsuccessful, back to Austin), Pete would inherit the car for the trouble of fetching it. If necessary Jane would replace it in Austin. They stowed their luggage in a train station locker while they went sightseeing.

Lincoln Park was a beautiful oasis of nature amid a big city. They strolled leisurely through the zoo in the brilliant, sunny day. Lisbon enjoyed most of the animals but had to tear a fascinated Jane away from the big cat enclosures.

When done they took a taxi to lunch at Uno's on the way to the Art Institute. They grabbed a corner booth in the nearly deserted restaurant, glad to sit after all the walking.

"You boasted about Chicago's ethnic cuisines and then choose pizza?!"

"_Deep dish Chicago pizza_," she corrected primly.

He leaned back. "Better be great. I gave up Thai, Vietnamese, Middle Eastern and Moroccan for this."

She gave him a dimpled smile and ordered for them both.

"_And _tea," he grumbled as the server delivered their sodas.

Forty minutes later they groaned at sated taste buds and full bellies.

"Told you!" she crowed.

"Think they deliver to Austin?"

Sadly, "Only in my dreams."

"Ice cream?" he asked, mostly to confirm she was too full as well.

"After dinner maybe." She sipped her soda and looked at him appraisingly. The barriers he'd been rebuilding were gone.

Jane lazily smiled, "Why so serious?"

"Thinking about yesterday." At his flicker of apprehension, she said, exasperated but not unkind, "How do I convince you? I was honest before Malibu, I was honest last night. Stop with the damn guilt and worry."

Now amused, "Since when do you read me so well?"

"I have ten years of advanced Jane-watching. Sheer self-defense."

Serious again. "You have no idea how relieved I am."

"Tell me about the island?" she asked softly, hand flat on the table, fingertips just brushing his.

He cocked his head. "Why?"

"Your letters gave me the happy version, didn't they?"

After another sip of soda, "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."

"Why?" she intentionally echoed.

He grinned, "Interested in everything about you."

"Nosy you mean."

"To-ma-to, to-mah-to." He stretched, resigned to talking for awhile. "Afterward ... I used a fake passport to get a flight out of the US." Reacting to her questioning glance, "Had the passport for awhile."

"Someplace without an extradition treaty?"

"Not exactly." She leaned back, anticipating a lecture. "All countries in the western hemisphere have treaties with the US. They aren't equally diligent about honoring them. Hostile nations pretty much don't. Also, I'd have to be charged or convicted."

"The FBI never charged you. –Weak circumstantial evidence, thousands of potential suspects."

"Ended up in Venezuela by way of Mexico City. Once on the second leg I knew I was safe."

She rotated her glass playing with the condensation rings on the polished wood table, looking down to ease the conversation.

"After everything, I was just ... done. Done thinking, done feeling. I went from Caracas to Margarita Island and rented the first cheap room I found." He fell silent, gaze fixed on a time and place far removed.

After a moment, "And?"

He tipped his head back, eyes closed. "Ten long years obsessed with _him_. Then – nothing." He swallowed convulsively. "I fulfilled my promise. There was nothing more I could even pretend to do for them. Slept too much, drank too much, swam too much. Eventually there was nothing new to think. Or feel."

Gently, "You wrote."

Bright eyes met hers. "Didn't think there'd be an 'afterward.' Never imagined how unsettled, how restless I'd feel." She heard the real word - _lonely_. "Missed you, the team. Almost-" He stopped.

"Almost?"

Lightly, "Almost like when I got out of the asylum. No connections."

Years ago she realized he came to the CBI just after being released. She was shocked he compared time on the island to that devastated, profoundly alone period.

She schooled her expression to neutral. "No friends, acquaintances?" knowing how easily Jane rubbed shoulders with people.

"Didn't speak Spanish. Too big a gap." He huffed, thoughts again faraway, "How could I explain pissing off a serial killer, getting my family killed, then killing him? Impossible conversation." He shook his head at the thought.

She covered his hand with hers and squeezed gently, "You could have learned Spanish in two years. –You didn't travel anywhere?"

He rubbed his hand across his face and sat straighter. "After putting Angela and Charlie to rest, no where I wanted to go." He caught her gaze. "Except home. I missed you. On my less selfish days I hoped you moved on." He grimaced, then corrected with a self-deprecating shrug, "If I was honest, I wanted you to move on _with me. _ Seemed impossible. Read about the mess in California from newspapers the tourists left."

She hated needing to know. "And Kim?"

His looked up, confused. "She showed up out of the blue. Everything about her screamed 'cop.' We went to dinner. Danced." Hurt claimed her features. He added, "Nothing more. Needed a heads up on FBI intentions."

"You were surprised." Eyes narrowed. "-When Fischer came in during your negotiations with Abbott _you were surprised_."

"Thought she was only bait. Showing up at that meeting meant she had a stake in me. Unexpected."

"Oh."

He slumped, enervated by revisiting more past he wanted to forget.

She got up. Briskly, "C'mon. You'll like the Art Institute."

He raised his eyebrows but went along. He'd cajole her story out of her in the museum.

They hoofed it the several blocks to the Art Institute.

"This is the Magnificent Mile," she explained as they walked down Michigan Avenue past shining, stately buildings. They paused on the bridge over the Chicago River, enjoying the lake view and breeze.

"Beautiful area," he agreed. "Chicago was on the carny circuit, but we always stopped in one far out suburb or another. Later when I did shows it was fly in, take a taxi to the hotel, then fly out the next morning."

"My brothers and I didn't see much of this side of Chicago. Other than the zoo, this was foreign territory."

Idly, "Any city can be pleasant with money."

"Not so much without."

Pivoting in a circle, "It is awfully flat though. Mostly treeless."

Annoyed at the dissing she objected, "Lots of trees. There are forest preserves."

He looked askance. "Doesn't the term 'forest preserve' tell you something? Like trees are endangered species."

"Well this _was_ prairie," she muttered. Despite trying to remain annoyed she sheepishly grinned. "I'll give you flat. The out of state college kids all commented on how flat it is. Never understood till I moved."

They continued walking. Jane burbled enthusiastically about the zoo, ending with, "That's something we should do. –See the animals in their natural habitat."

"A drive-through safari park?"

He stopped and turned. "Africa. Other places. It's a whole wide world, Lisbon."

She said dubiously, "Maybe. Long as it's civilized."

He grinned and resumed walking. "City girl. Gotta change that."

They were almost to the institute when Lisbon's cell vibrated.

**Austin, TX**

"Cho." He answered his work cell, expecting a call about a case he was helping on.

A male voice with a British accent spoke. "I understand a mutual friend would like to meet with me."

_Stiles! _"Yes?"_ Not so dead after all._

"Man of few words."

Cho ignored the amusement in the voice. "Time and place?"

"Oh, I think a little flexibility would be best. Tomorrow noon, our friend should walk west on Virginia Avenue in DC, starting at Constitution Avenue."

"Can you be more specific?"

Sharper, "No. I'll find him."

"Them. His partner will be with him."

There was a pause. "His lovely _female_ partner?"

"Yes."

"That will be satisfactory."

Cho called Lisbon. They assured him they'd be there and, no, they didn't need back-up. After they hung up he knocked and stepped into Abbott's office.

"Yes?"

"Meeting with Stiles is set. Tomorrow around noon in DC."

"Lisbon and Jane?" Cho nodded. "They need anything?"

"No. Jane knows Stiles, knows what he's doing."

"Okay, then." Abbott turned to another matter. "Be sure you have your go-bag. Blake team's flying out tomorrow. Briefing on the flight." Since the attack on Abbott and Fischer, details about Blake ops were strictly need-to-know.

Cho nodded and left.

**Chicago**

After Cho's call, Lisbon stowed her cell as they paused between the bronze lions at the Art Institute entrance.

"We need to be in DC by tomorrow."

"Redeye? Don't want to risk getting grounded by a snowstorm," he teased, ribbing her about the infamous Chicago weather.

"I'll ignore that. –We should talk so I can follow your lead. Do you need to prepare or anything?"

He shook his head. Looking at the imposing classical facade, "We're here, let's enjoy."

Dubiously under her breath, "Maybe with a guide," which, of course, Jane heard.

Hand on the small of her back, they mounted the steps. "Art is a window into how people thought, what they considered important. It communicated ideas when few were literate. Average people of their time and place would have perfectly understood religious and other symbols. Art also reflects how they understood their world. Do you know babies used to be painted as miniature adults? Childhood was considered an inferior state to be remedied as soon as possible."

Becoming interested, "Why?"

"Only adults could properly honor and serve God. -Portraits used to be the province of the high and mighty. Of course the rich commissioned most portraits. Later, ordinary people and scenes became popular..." He rambled on enthusiastically as they bought tickets and looked over the brochure and map.

Jane patiently waited until they were well into their tour. He was pleased at the extensive and varied collections, figuring he'd be back when Lisbon visited her family. Lisbon was intently examining Seurat's _A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte_ when he broached the subject_. _The room was empty except for them.

"Tell me about your two years after I ran."

Distracted, she frowned a little before the query sank in. She shrugged. "What's to tell? The CBI was scrapped, we were investigated, and I got another job."

"More than the headline, my dear. Not just what happened, but how you were affected." His hand rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

She looked around and searched his face. He wouldn't be put off after his painful openness and honesty. She turned back to the painting to keep him from reading her. "You already know the governor asked the FBI to dismantle the CBI. A week later the legislature passed an emergency bill legally terminating the bureau." She shook her head. "Too corrupt to save." Intensely, "That fat fu–"

"Teresa!" Jane breathed as a family with kids entered.

Seamlessly, "–nny Abbott investigated us back to kindergarten. He cleared Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt in two months. Kept me twisting in the wind two more."

"How did you manage?"

Lisbon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Lived off savings." She ran her fingers through her hair. "End of CBI. Team scattered. You gone." She faced him. They were alone again. "I could have weathered one, maybe two of those. All at once was a bitch."

They drifted on.

Wry with a touch of bitterness. "I was never in better shape in my life. Lots of running, not much eating. Daily target practice – not that it mattered if I couldn't find work."

Quietly, "Why couldn't you?"

Openly bitter now, "After investigating us for months, Abbott screwed us over. Didn't give us credit, didn't publicly clear us. We got form letters stating there was 'no evidence of involvement in corrupt activities.'" She stopped. Eyes moist and bright. "Thank God for your letters. For awhile they were what kept me going."

Regretful, "I'm sorry I didn't write more often. Sooner."

She sighed. "Rough time for us all. Rigsby and Van Pelt started their private investigative firm. Cho applied to the FBI. Abbott warned against him getting in but he was accepted anyhow."

"Go, Cho," Jane said fondly in a quiet voice.

"Minelli helped me get the chief of police job in Cannon River."

They ambled through more rooms in silence, casually viewing the art.

After she calmed down he ventured, "How was Cannon River?"

"Like being trapped in a Disney movie."

He waited, knowing the frustration would find its way out.

"Stopping vandalism, solving bike thefts. Occasional DUI. Hell, a minor drug bust made the front page for a week."

"No friends, or," he swallowed, "interesting men?"

"The people were – _are_ – great. Friendly, helpful, purely _nice_. The police force is all locals. Decent guys, but they just don't compare to my CBI team," she said a trifle defiantly, slightly embarrassed at the whiff of elitism.

He quietly pressed, "And men?"

She pivoted and faced him. "Good, solid men. Like Greg. Those who aren't happily married leave for the city." Sourly, "Bigger dating pool."

Jane sat on a bench and Lisbon joined him. This was his opportunity to find out what she wanted, help him know where to take it all. "If you could have anything, what do you want?"

"I haven't really thought about it. Irrelevant till now."

"And now that it is relevant?"

She mused, eyes unfocused. "I miss the team. A lot. I'm ... so happy you're back. Even if it is Austin."

"Thought you'd like the FBI, working big, challenging cases."

She sighed. "The work _is_ interesting. But I trust Abbott about as far as I can throw him. It's not that he's hard nosed, it's what he did in Sacramento."

_So FBI, ... not so much._ "Hightower's heading the CIB, yes? Maybe you could work there."

She turned to him eyes wide and anxious. "What – what about us?"

Soothingly, "I'm not beholden to the FBI forever. Setting that aside, would you want to work for the new California bureau?"

Lisbon swallowed and squared her shoulders, admitting a painful truth to herself even more than Jane. Slowly, "Don't think so."

He raised his eyebrows, silently requesting an explanation.

"My 20 years of good, hard work didn't matter when I – the team – was accused of being Blake. Being a cop is who I am. But I just can't muster the naive optimism to buy into a bureaucracy again. Work my ass off like some drone only to get shafted."

His lips lifted in a hint of a smile. "Guarantee no one sees you as naively optimistic." This time he sighed, "But I see your point. When it mattered, no one had your back." _Much to think about._ "C'mon. Let's finish up, grab dinner, and get to DC."

**City Street, Washington DC, Noon**

Lisbon and Jane walked west on Virginia Avenue from Constitution Avenue. The weather was similar to Chicago's. They were grateful it wasn't hot and wasn't raining. They'd been walking half an hour when they entered a long underpass. Mid-way through, a black stretch limo pulled up alongside. A window was lowered by the driver.

"Bret requests your company."

They exchanged glances. Jane held the door for Lisbon, then walked around to the other side and got in alongside her. As Jane expected, the car was occupied only by the driver.

"Where are we going?"

"Directions will be radioed to me."

They sat back as the driver smoothly accelerated from the curb.

A few blocks later the driver swore and took a sharp left.

He jammed on his brakes, car slewing as he barely avoided crashing the black SUV ahead. Lisbon and Jane held tight to the door handles and stayed in place.

"What the–" The driver tried to back away, only to be blocked by more SUV's.

**"FBI! GET OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP."**

"Shit! I – I–" Trembling, the driver unlatched his door only to have it yanked open by a man in black.

Others flung open the passenger doors and jerked Lisbon and Jane out. Lisbon yelped as a burly man chopped down on her right hand, making her drop her gun.

**"HANDS UP. FACE THE CAR."**

They glimpsed a dozen men in Kevlar vests, each with gun aimed their way. The three were roughly shoved against the limo.

Lisbon half turned and yelled, "Dammit, we're FBI! You–" an agent shoved her back against the car, "–idiots!" She turned her head and viciously ordered, "My badge is on my belt. Look at it!"

She caught sight of Cho, who was as furious as she'd ever seen him. Cho bit out, "Stand down! She's one of ours," as the nearest agent moved to cuff her.

A patch of wet spread down his legs then the driver dropped in a dead faint. Lisbon looked to see what grabbed the agents' attention. Then Jane half collapsed against the car, shoulders shaking.

"Jane!"

He sagged against the car, hands gripping the roof to keep upright.

Lisbon exhaled in relief. _Not hurt!_

Jane laughed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. "You – you're ... Keystone cops!" Dennis Abbott approached the scene from yet another SUV. Catching sight of him, Jane gasped out, "Abbott and Costello. –You morons!"

Face like thunder, Abbott shouted, "Stand down. Release them, they're FBI." He looked around. "No one else in the car?"

The lead agent reported, "No, sir. Just the driver and these two." He nodded at Lisbon and Jane who wiped his eyes, laughter subsiding to little eruptions of chuckles as he gradually regained his composure.

"Get them into my vehicle. See if the driver knows anything when he comes to. Then return to the bureau office." He turned on his heel. Jane and Lisbon were hustled to the back seat of his SUV. Cho slid into the driver's seat. Abbott took shotgun.

**FBI Field Office, Washington DC**

Abbott, Cho, Lisbon and Jane sat in a windowless conference room. Jane sipped the tea an aide brought him. Lisbon rubbed her right wrist. Cho was a statue, face impassive and arms crossed over his chest. An agent stopped by to tell Abbott the driver didn't know anything. The limo had been hired and given directions by phone. The phone was an untraceable burner cell and the credit card an anonymous prepaid cash card.

Cho opened. "You monitored my phone to get the meet location. What happened to teamwork?"

Abbott ignored Cho. His calm voice held an undercurrent of anger. "There's a blanket warrant out for Visualize leaders. There was a warrant out for Stiles before he _supposedly_ died in the explosion at your Malibu house, Jane. Any explanations?" He scanned the group.

Lisbon took point on events from two years ago. "Stiles was reported dead, confirmed by DNA."

"But?"

"McAllister was also reported dead from that blast. After a concussion grenade, we think an accomplice took McAllister and Stiles outside and planted two corpses in their place. The DNA evidence was faked."

Controlling his tightly coiled anger, Cho asked, "Why? If Stiles vanishes you blew our best chance of getting the Blake leaders."

Coldly, "I accept you three are honestly trying to get Blake. I gave you running room but it's my call how _much_. Visualize is selling arms and dealing drugs with terrorists. Six months ago evidence turned up against Bret Stiles. Now that he's miraculously returned from the dead, squeezing him would deliver Visualize on a platter. Worth trying to get Stiles."

Impasse. The silence lay like toxic fog. Clatter shattered the moment as Jane put his cup and saucer on the table.

Completely at ease, Jane said mildly, "You really aren't good at this. You accept evidence that just happens to surface after decades of searching. You have no idea who Stiles is or how to play him. You're blundering around with heavy-handed protocol when flexibility and finesse are required." He lifted his teacup for another sip. "Stupid."

Abbott's eyes glittered dangerously. "Organizations abetting terrorists need to be put out of business. I'm pursuing that regardless of your opinion. With luck, we'll get the Blake leaders as well." Abbott rose. "Stay in town. I'll let you know our next move on Visualize." He left. The door softly thumped the wall and drifted half closed.

Cho closed the door and reseated himself. He looked around. "Now what?"

Jane sipped more tea, eyes unfocused as he thought. After a moment his gaze sharpened as his attention returned to the present company. He tipped his head. "Proceed with our original plan."

Lisbon was upset at the botched meet and antagonism from Abbott. She growled, "Spell it out Jane. I'm in no mood to wait for one of your grand reveals."

"Stiles was curious enough to meet. He's still curious. He'll call again."

"Abbott'll intercept that call and we're back where we started," Lisbon argued.

"Stiles will call through Rigsby or Van Pelt." They gaped. Patiently, "Personal relationships endure. He'll know we're in touch. He'll track them down and get a message to us that way."

"How can you be sure?" Lisbon challenged.

"It's what I'd do."

Cho, "Then what?"

"Lisbon and I meet and strike a deal."

Lisbon objected, "Jane, we can't strike a deal if Abbott's trying to take down Visualize."

"True. Abbott's boss will stop him."

"–Because?"

Cho hazarded, "Politics?" When Jane nodded, "Some Congressmen are in Visualize. Others get big campaign donations."

Lisbon added thoughtfully, "Taking down a religious organization is different from going after corrupt leaders. Tangles with the Constitution." She looked hard at Jane. "Visualize would tie it up in court for years."

Jane nodded. "Someone in the Justice Department will rein Abbott in before it gets that far. We'll see what Stiles wants in return for identifying the Blake leaders."

"Why would he want anything? Getting Blake out of Visualize is a win-win," Cho opined bluntly.

Showing the faintest sign of irritation but not at them, "You'd be right except Abbott weakened our hand. Stiles will want more after that botched move. I'll just have to convince Abbott."

"Piece of cake," Lisbon snarked, "since you and Abbott get along so well."

"You'll see."

"What next?" Cho asked.

"I suggest a nice dinner on the FBI's dime. We have time to kill until Stiles contacts the Rigsby's."


	29. Chapter 29 - Old Frenemies

**Chapter 29: Old Frenemies**

**Grand Junction, Iowa**

Raptly focused on her computer screen Grace Van Pelt was startled by the kiss on the back of her neck. She turned to be met by an embrace and passionate kiss from her husband.

When they separated, "You've been at it all day, Grace. How about some together time before your folks get back?"

Apologetic, "Sorry, Babe. Making progress with Bertram's drive. Got half the names. -The kids?"

"taylor's down for the night. Finished reading to Ben. Dogs are fed and out."

She glanced back at the screen then scrunched her nose, tired of grinding away. "Heck," she muttered. Aloud, "Go upstairs and, uh, get ready. There in five."

"Ready now," he said with a teasing caress. "Be quick." He walked into the living room.

Glass shattered. A body thudded on the floor.

"Wayne!"

An hour earlier a black clad figure wove quietly through the open woods surrounding the house.

He'd done his reconnaissance. Every night the older couple left and didn't return for several hours. The dogs followed and circled but never barked, never attacked. Just to be sure, tonight he left meat laced with poison near the road into the hundred acre property. Unhurried, he skirted the tree line for cover. Once settled he shed night vision goggles and readied his sniper rifle. Inside lights made it perfect. Even with closed drapes, figures stood out when they passed in front of a lamp. Hollow-points guaranteed that any shot hitting the torso would be lethal. The plan was simple. Eliminate the adults. Ignore or kill the kids (the boy might be old enough to ID him). Grab the computer and vanish before the parents returned. Then the Association would focus on the others – three from the defunct SCU and Abbott, who hadn't died after all.

He raised his rifle. The scope made it seem like he was a few feet from the window. A tall shadow sharpened as the figure neared the lamp. _Good. Him first._ He gently squeezed the trigger and–

**-SCREAMED** as a vise clamped down on his arm. Bones crunched. The arm bent at an impossible angle as 155 pounds of mastiff all but tore it off. A hurtling 140 pounds toppled him from the opposite direction. His left shoulder was slowly crushed as he struggled. The vise tightened till he stopped moving, pinned from two sides and wracked with pain. His body muffled the growls so only his screams and moans could be heard. They hunkered down, deadly jaws clamped to his body, waiting to be relieved of their prisoner.

"Stay down!" Rigsby shouted, glass shards sparkling on the planked floor around him.

"Are you–"

"Fine." He scrambled to the closet that housed the gun safe, grateful for his jeans, shoes and long-sleeves. Rigsby got their weapons and slid one to his wife. "Protect the kids. I'm going out," not waiting for her reply. He crouched near the floor and pulled the lamp plug. The house plunged into darkness and he slipped out the back door.

The quarter moon was hidden behind clouds and night swallowed the dim glow that made it through. Rigsby checked the outside of the house, found no one. He sprinted to the forest and ducked a few feet into the trees for cover. _C'mon, c'mon, where are you, you bastard? _ He heard a noise and made his way there. _Damn, where are the dogs? Oh!_ The faint gleam revealed the rifle barrel. He tossed it several feet behind himself.

"Copper: Hunt!" he ordered in a whisper, reinforcing the command with a hand signal. The dog instantly released her grip and dashed off into the darkness. "How many are there?" he asked the prone body in a whisper.

The man groaned but didn't answer.

Rigsby clamped his hand over the assassin's mouth and shook him, louder groans muffled. "Dammit, how many are there?" He cautiously moved his hand.

The man grimaced, pain and hate plain in his voice. "Just me."

"Who sent you?"

"Fuck you."

Rigsby tore a sleeve off the man's shirt and gagged him. He used the belt to bind his upper arms to his sides, ignoring the muffled screams of pain at the rough handling. The man's hands were useless after the dogs' mauling. A four-legged shape loomed out of the darkness. Rigsby affectionately rubbed her head. "Good dog!" _No one else then._ Copper would have barked or disabled any stranger found after that command._ Good._

He put his handgun in a pocket and picked up the rifle. He stood and dragged the man to his feet. In a low growl, "We're going to the house. Run and the dogs will kill you." To Copper and Steel, "Guard." Rigsby shoved the man forward. The massive animals followed closely, snarling every time the attacker stumbled. They had done their job - attacking when a stranger extended his arm with a handgun or rifle or threatened family close up.

"Grace, all clear," Rigsby called though the shattered window. He flicked the lights on as he entered.

Van Pelt made her way down the staircase, gun at the ready.

"The kids?"

"Still asleep. –I'll get my cuffs."

Rigsby sat his prisoner down in a sturdy kitchen chair, cuffed him to the armrests and tied his legs to the chair legs. He removed the gag.

"Who are you?"

"My partners will finish the job if I don't meet up."

Calmly, "Liar. There'd be more than one if anyone else was around. You're Blake. Why come after us?" The man said nothing. He gasped when Rigsby nudged his broken arm with his hand. Behind the prisoner Van Pelt frowned, not wanting the kids to wake. Forcefully. "Name and reason."

Grimacing with pain the man spat out, "John Smith." Rigsby snorted. "You have something we want."

"Which is?"

He answered when Rigsby moved to jar his arm again. "The drive. Bertram's drive."

"Okay." Rigsby gagged him again. "Grace, get some towels and tape, he's bleeding all over the place. I'm gonna call and see what Cho wants-"

Van Pelt's cell interrupted him. "Yes?" she answered walking into the office so the captive couldn't hear.

"You sonofabitch! You try to kill us then call to gloat?" Alarmed at her furious tone Rigsby followed to hear. He paused in the doorway so he could still watch their prisoner. She glanced at her husband and put it on speaker, volume turned down. She turned and fumbled with her computer, which was still on.

A cultured voice with a British accent replied. Taken aback, "My dear girl! I assure you I sent no one. –Are you all right?"

Mastering her anger, "What do you want?"

Soothingly, "A small request among ... friends. A meeting planned with a mutual friend was rudely interrupted. I would be ever so grateful if you'd pass along a message."

Cho had warned Rigsby Stiles might call. Calmly, "Tell me and I will."

"My driver will pick him and his lovely companion up tomorrow. They should walk northwest on Connecticut Avenue from the White House at eleven."

More warmly, "I'll pass it along. I, uh, gather you're feeling better?"

Surprised, "Yes, thank you for asking. A trip abroad does wonders for one's health."

She glanced at her computer screen. Rigsby frowned at her, expression a question. "I'm glad. The last time we met you seemed ... under the weather. And then there was that – that problem in Malibu, I heard."

"My dear, I appreciate your concern, but I really must be going. Perhaps our friend can fill you in after we meet. Have a pleasant evening," and he was gone.

Van Pelt pumped her arm. "Got it!" she said fiercely.

"Got what? That was–" he glanced toward the kitchen and lowered his voice, "–Stiles. Why the fake concern?"

She looked sharply at him, eyes gleaming. "He was using a burner phone in DC."

"And?"

She sat and keyed a few commands. "And, " she looked up, exultant, "that call was from the Guyana Embassy in DC." She smiled, "Boss and Jane might want to know."

He grinned, always appreciative of his smart, capable wife, "Nice! –Let me find out what Cho wants to do with him," he nodded toward their captive, "then I guess we should clean up."

After Cho briefed Abbott about the attack, Abbott arranged for agents from the Des Moines FBI office to pick up the prisoner. He'd be patched up and transferred to Austin for questioning. Van Pelt cleaned up the glass while Rigsby taped plastic over the broken window. FBI agents picked up the assassin barely a half hour before her parents returned.

The senior Van Pelt's were disturbed at finding three racoons and a 'possum dead at the driveway entrance and expressed their relief that the trained dogs would eat only from their bowls. They were shocked and frightened after learning of the attack. Wayne and Grace offered to leave rather than risk more attacks, but her parents firmly refused. There was no guarantee they wouldn't be in danger regardless. Instead, the four agreed to alert the county sheriff and have the dogs patrol day and night. They'd all be armed and either Grace or Wayne would accompany the senior Van Pelts any time they left the property. They turned in around midnight.

Grace Van Pelt lay awake for hours. She shuddered thinking about the night's events and her husband instinctively tightened his embrace without waking. She thanked God again for keeping them safe and prayed they would continue to be protected. _And thank heavens Jane figured out about the break-ins so we were forewarned. _Bitterly, _At least some good came from Craig. Wouldn't have gotten the dogs without-, _she blinked back tears of loss and shame and anger, _-without learning he was Red John's mole. For sure they wouldn't be professionally trained... _She drifted off, comforted knowing the huge, loyal dogs guarded them all.

**Washington, DC**

Lisbon turned in a circle, inspecting herself in the full-length hotel mirror. "You really think new clothes were essential?" The pantsuit was severely cut and suitable to law enforcement, but she silently conceded she'd never looked better. The cut and material were better than anything she'd ever worn. The emerald silk blouse did wonderful things for her eyes and complexion.

He buttoned his vest and donned the jacket. "Highly desirable. We need to _look_ capable of delivering whatever's necessary for this deal."

She snorted softly. "Like Bret Stiles would be taken in by mind games." She admitted to herself Jane looked the part in the new clothes he'd bought post-detention. Ample sleep, exercise during detention, less worry and, she blinked at the thought, maybe even the sex had him back to alpha male drop dead gorgeous. She tuned back into the conversation.

Mildly, "First impressions happen far faster than conscious thought. Even for Stiles." He looked her over appreciatively, "You look lovely."

She colored slightly but only grumbled, "At least you weren't pushing a dress this time." She picked up her bag but before she reached the door he caught her arm and turned her for a kiss.

He murmured, "Unnecessary. I'm not deprived of seeing your legs these days." She lightly whapped his arm and pulled free.

"C'mon. Coffee before we meet. And tea," she added for his benefit.

They sipped their beverages in the coffee shop, stalling till it was time to leave.

"Why go to the embassy instead of following the message?"

Absently, "If he's there, gets him off balance."

"And if he isn't?"

"No harm done. We'll just walk down Connecticut as directed."

Ordinarily she disliked one-upmanship games, but bowed to Jane's instincts. "How do you think it'll go?"

Smiling, "Have no idea." At her scowl, "Lighten up, Lisbon. We've done this hundreds of times. It's only Bret Stiles."

"Only." She sipped her coffee. "Why tell Cho not to pass along those names from Grace?"

"Leverage. Stiles would undoubtedly deliver some Blake leaders. We'll get them all with a way to keep him honest."

Lisbon dismissed that with a huff. "Stiles and honesty. Oxymoron." As nervous as Jane was relaxed, she tried another tack, "What's the biggest risk to this working?"

Jane sipped his tea. "Jason Cooper and Abbott."

"–Because?"

"If Cooper struck a deal with Abbott, Stiles wouldn't have anything to offer."

"And we care – why?"

"At the top of his game, Stiles knows everything about Visualize, ten steps ahead of Cooper. You always want the most capable man across the table."

"What if he isn't sharp any more? He was really sick-"

Jane rolled his eyes then leaned over and interrupted her with a kiss. "Shhh. We'll know in an hour."

Lisbon sighed. She _knew_ Jane excelled at this stuff. She was just having a hard time _feeling_ that way.

Reading her, he said softly, "Relax, woman. Just a conversation with an old acquaintance." She gave him a dour look, but couldn't quite suppress a smile.

**Guyana Embassy, Washington DC**

The limo Jane hired pulled up in front of the stately brick building in the heart of DC. The driver opened Jane's door, next Lisbon's, and then waited while they rang the bell.

"Patrick Jane and Agent Lisbon to see Mr. Stiles, please," Jane politely asked the servant who answered.

"One moment, sir."

Jane's eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile. _Looks like Van Pelt's tip is good._

After several minutes, "This way, please."

Jane waved the limo driver to leave and entered behind Lisbon. They were shown to a library, all polished walnut, gilded leather-bound books, cast decorative plaster, and rich leather furniture.

Bret Stiles rose to greet them. A glance showed he had lost the slight jaundiced cast and had regained the weight dropped two years earlier.

"Patrick, my bo– friend. And the lovely Agent Lisbon. Welcome." He motioned for them to be seated and took a chair opposite. Chidingly, "I didn't expect you to be early."

Jane smiled, "We were in the neighborhood."

Stiles summoned a servant with a flick of his index finger. "Coffee, Agent? And tea, I presume."

"Black, thank you."

Jane just nodded.

Stiles observed them with a faint smile. Though he let the silence drag on, neither visitor evinced the slightest discomfort. Their beverages and tea cakes were served and the servant left, closing the door behind. Finally, "Though I am _delighted_ to see old friends, I must say you caused me and my followers grievous difficulties. I almost declined to meet."

"We appreciate your forbearance. And the bother of tracking down former colleagues to arrange a second meeting."

Stiles half smiled at being called out. He cleared his throat. "So we meet at your request, Patrick."

"You're looking well, Bret. Death – or is it resurrection? – agrees with you."

"Word of my demise was very premature." He stirred his tea then added,"I was disappointed by your hospitality at Malibu. No way to treat guests, my friend."

Jane smiled. "It was _your_ ... ally who disrupted a very illuminating meeting." Eyes cold, "You protected him, restrained my impulse to act as I recall."

Stiles sipped his tea. Dryly, "Well, 'ally' definitely overstates that relationship." He frowned slightly and looked from Jane to Lisbon. "I gather congratulations are in order. If rumor is correct, you accomplished your goal in a ... shockingly personal way." He glanced at Lisbon. "And you were denied the opportunity to deal with Sheriff McAllister lawfully, Agent. And yet – here you sit with Patrick."

Surprised at the blatant attempt to divide them, she smiled sweetly, "I'm perfectly satisfied justice was served, Mr. Stiles. Perhaps you've heard we're both with the FBI now. Things have a way of working out." Jane smiled beside her.

Stiles looked pointedly at her hair – blonde and short, and then Jane's – fawn and clipped. "Unless Brother Cooper was mistaken, you were recently avoiding the very law enforcement organization which employs you. Curious."

Lisbon answered smoothly, "Minor misunderstanding. Now resolved."

"And yet Agent Abbott rudely disrupted the meeting we planned yesterday."

Jane responded, "Which is why we're meeting today. Dennis Abbott represents a bureaucratic organization that tends to be inflexible and unimaginative. I was hired to mitigate those flaws. – Which brings us back to why we are here."

"Do go on. I'm hanging on every word."

"Visualize has a vermin problem. The organization you built from scratch over 40 years has been overtaken and diverted to new and dangerous purposes." Jane took a tea cake and delicately bit off a tiny piece. "Or am I wrong?"

"Certain undesirable elements have entered Visualize," Stiles conceded.

When Stiles stopped, Jane picked up the narrative, "Which presents a mutually beneficial opportunity. The elements destroying your organization are the very ones we would like to identify and arrest."

"Who, pray tell, is 'we' in this discussion?"

Jane theatrically sighed. "We personally find Blake's continued existence inconvenient-"

"-So I understand from sweet Grace," Stiles murmured.

"-And having eliminated the lower levels of Blake, the FBI now wants the leaders."

Heartily, "A bold and ambitious goal! The FBI's vigilance is most comforting to us citizens." Lisbon caught herself before rolling her eyes at his sarcasm.

Jane acquiesced to having to make the first offer. "You can help eliminate that blight."

"But that wouldn't help me at all." Heatedly, "Regrettably, I am immured in this gracious embassy because of your organization's persecution."

"Which can be changed. Canceled."

"My dear Patrick, how can I possibly believe you when your own supervisor assaulted the limousine yesterday?"

"Tell me what it would take and I'll arrange it."

Stiles's gaze sharpened. Carefully, "A letter from the US Attorney General would be needed absolving me and Visualize of culpability for any criminal acts to date. Only the criminals who seized Visualize would be charged and prosecuted. Not my organization. Not me."

Jane leaned back and chuckled. "Ah, Bret. 'Bold and ambitious.'" He sighed. "It's reasonable to focus on those responsible for recent crimes. A blanket pass for 40 years is a bit much."

Stiles smiled in return. "Then I guess you'll have to employ your vaunted skills to make that happen."

"Or we could see if Jason Cooper might like to earn his freedom." Lisbon almost missed the nanosecond when Stiles's eyes widened.

Irritation bleeding through the affability, "He is loyal – extremely loyal."

"'I am his highness's dog at Kew; / Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?'"

"Though unkind to Brother Cooper, the sentiment is accurate. I am confident Jason has no interest in dealing with the FBI."

Jane leaned forward again and lifted his cup. "There were no charges leveled against Visualize before Blake's rise. I would think absolution for the Blake years would suffice."

"Your dogmatic Agent Abbott is investigating spurious charges from nearly 40 years ago. I prefer not to spend years debunking those charges."

Casually, "Gale Bertram's conniving, underhanded personality may have redeemed him in the end. He left a computer record of Blake leaders, you know."

"I heard rumors to that effect."

"How many Blake leaders are there, Bret?"

"I'm aware of around 200."

Jane smiled engagingly. "See? Perfect reason to collaborate. Bertram's drive lists fewer than that. Think of all the Blake vermin the FBI will miss unless we can agree."

Lisbon saw that Stiles wasn't ready to buy in. She threw out a question to give him time. "Mr. Stiles–"

"–'Bret,' please."

"–what did happen during the last two years? How did Blake become so ... entrenched?"

He and Jane relaxed and regrouped, appreciating her diversion. Stiles poured himself more tea. "The Malibu contretemps complicated my health issues which were, sadly, dire.' Brightly, "A trip abroad proved most healthful." He smiled, "Our dedicated FDA scientists are tireless in protecting the efficacy of our drugs and the sanctity of their methodologies. They nearly protected me to death! Fortunately, European pharmaceutical research had a cure for my particular illness. –Miracle drug, really." He paused, gaze unfocused, then continued with a slight shake. "_Un_fortunately, my illness had ravaged my liver, necessitating a sojourn in India."

Puzzled, Jane interjected, "India provides affluent foreigners excellent medical care, but I never heard it was better than the US."

Stiles took a deep breath. "Not the care. The transplant opportunities."

Horrified, Lisbon blurted, "You bought a liver?!"

"Come, my dear, naivete does not suit you. You of all people wouldn't deny a man of faith the opportunity to serve his God?" Enjoying her appalled silence, he continued with a dismissive flick of his wrist, "Never fear. The liver is the only organ that regenerates. My devout follower is completely recovered. _And_ he is immeasurably better off materially, I might add, for serving his God."

Lisbon blinked and exhaled, relief matched and exceeded by revulsion.

Jane asked, "That required two years?"

"No, not that alone. I didn't fancy the tedium of taking immunosuppressant drugs. Great strides have been made in tissue engineering. Courtesy of such breakthroughs - and an enormous donation I might add – a replacement was grown from my own liver cells. Et voila! I am again in perfect health." He smiled at Lisbon, baiting her unmercifully. "A miracle, really."

Jane ventured, "So despite Brother Cooper's best efforts, Blake took control of Visualize while you were ... distracted. The embezzlement charges were fabricated–"

"–Of course."

"–And you're in this embassy because of legal problems Blake caused Visualize." Bluntly, "What will you do if you can purge Blake from Visualize?"

Stiles expression was tinged with wistfulness. "Visualize has been built, is a thriving religious organization." He ignored Lisbon's soft snort. "Visualize can succeed indefinitely without running afoul of laws. I fancy the good it can do." He looked at Jane with uncharacteristic sincerity. "No matter what you think of Visualize – or me, – thousands who were addicted, dysfunctional, have been saved." With iron determination, "I intend to get my organization back from the greedy Blake bastards."

Jane and Lisbon sat stunned for a moment. Jane finally said, "Give us the Blake names and you will."

Clipped, "Give me a letter from the AG absolving me and Visualize for the period from McAllister's murder till now. And pardon Jason Cooper."

"Then I need something more. Someone above Abbott is Blake. I need that name _and_ I need Abbott to move up."

"And the trumped up charges from decades ago?"

"I'll see what I can do."

The three sat quietly for a moment, tension melting at the tentative agreement. Jane and Lisbon rose. "Bret, it's been a pleasure. How long will it take to give me the names once I arrange for the AG's letter?"

"A week. With Cooper's help."

"I'll be in touch."

Jane and Stiles shook hands. Lisbon gracefully sidestepped by heading toward the door.

"Do you require transportation?"

"It's a beautiful day. We'll enjoy the stroll," Jane replied.

The embassy door closed behind them. Jane gave a deep sigh of relief. Lisbon squeezed his arm in comfort and congratulations then slid her hand down and laced fingers with his. Jane made it look easy, but it wasn't. Even for him.

Now all they had to do was convince Abbott.


	30. Chapter 30 - Deal With The Devil

**Chapter 30: Deal with the Devil**

**FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC**

"The Deputy Director will see you. You have 15 minutes," the aide said as he ushered Abbott into an imposing but sober office.

Abbott respectfully stood a few paces from the desk until Deputy Director Robertson looked up. Setting a file aside, "Dennis," waving him to sit, "good to see you've recovered. What's on your mind?"

"Visualize." Abbott took a breath and baldly laid it out. "I want to go after the organization, not just the leaders. Visualize deals with terrorists and helped cover up murders."

Robertson straightened and eyed him curiously. "What changed?"

"Visualize is corrupt, criminal, and dangerous. We need to take apart the organization as well as its leaders."

Robertson tapped a pen on his desk. After a moment, "You told me Blake infiltrated Visualize. Nailing them is challenge enough. What do you have that will stick against the organization?"

"Some notes and payoffs to known hit men were discovered connected to several murders shortly after Visualize was formed. That plus the terrorist angle speaks to the overall organization. We can squeeze Jason Cooper, Bret Stiles's former second in command, to ID Blake leaders, corroborate the terrorism connection and possibly give us more on the murders."

Surprised, "A plea bargain wasn't offered when he was arrested?"

"Turned it down. A couple of years in prison should make him reconsider."

Dubious, "'Maybe.'" His eyes narrowed. "I approved a parallel effort with that CBI consultant you retrieved. What happened there?"

Abbott subtly stiffened. "Cho's team determined Blake took over Visualize and verified Cooper can ID the leaders."

Robertson leaned back. "And yesterday's failed bust?"

Abbott blinked and swallowed. _Blind sided._ "A meet was set up with Bret Stiles, who didn't die two years ago as reported. Turned out he _wasn't_ in the limo sent to pick them up."

Robertson exhaled. "You wanted to squeeze Stiles himself, but failed to arrest him. Where _is_ Stiles?"

Abbott's lips twitched. "Probably an embassy."

"Untouchable then." Ticks from an old fashioned clock meted out the thick silence. "You have nothing solid, Abbott. You _hope_ Cooper can corroborate the evidence. _Maybe_ he'll cooperate. You _try and fail_ to get Stiles. And taking down an organization – a _religious_ organization of which several Congressmen are members – is more than a stretch–"

"–Terrorist links and coverup for murders by Stiles!" Abbott pressed urgently.

"Request denied. Come back with a plan that will work. And I want the details on any evidence justifying going after Visualize."

A muscle jumped in Abbott's jaw. "Yes, sir." Abbott left, swallowing his disappointment. The Blake assassin who attacked the Van Pelt household was out of surgery. He'd fly to Austin and see what he could get out of him. Then he'd have to decide what to do about Cho's approach.

**Morning, Hilton Hotel, Washington, DC**

Lisbon nudged the inert lump on the bed.

"Hey." She nudged him harder. "Hey, sleepyhead, Cho called. I'm in on a bust of the local Blake lowlifes."

Jane groaned and cracked one eye a slit.

"You turned in late. Anything wrong?"

Jane heavily rolled over and threw an arm over his eyes blocking the sun. He replied through a yawn, "Fine. Went drinking after poker."

She glanced at her watch. Curiosity won. "Why cozy up to Abbott's Blake team?"

He peeked under his arm with one eye. "Would you believe fun?"

"S-u-r-e. You choose cops for poker buddies now."

"What happens when we get the Blake names?"

Used to Jane answering a question with a question, "We dig up evidence, build cases and bust 'em."

Amused, "All four of us?"

"–Oh. You're making nice with the guys we'll have to work with."

He yawned again. "Thought it was a good idea, 'specially after I was a little disrespectful–" she snorted, "-during the Stiles bust." He couldn't help chuckling at the memory.

"Who won?"

He shrugged one shoulder diffidently, "No one. Friendly game."

"They'll hate you if they figure you threw hands."

Now sitting up and sleepily rubbing his face, "Didn't throw them. I, uh, just didn't read them or bother counting cards."

"Threw 'em," she repeated. "Hey, gotta go. Back this afternoon." She kissed him good-bye and left, grabbing a jacket on her way out in view of unseasonably cold weather.

As the door closed behind her, "Be careful," he reminded. Hoped.

**Grand Junction, Iowa**

Van Pelt entered the kitchen and tossed the empty bottle into the sink. She grabbed a burping cloth, hoisted her daughter to her shoulder, and gently bounced her while patting her daughter's back. Her forehead creased. Her normally even-tempered husband scowled as he finished a cell call.

"Hey, babe. What's wrong?"

Rigsby startled, noticing them for the first time. "Nothing, Grace." He walked over and offered Maddie a finger to play with.

She tilted her head, eyebrow raised. "Nope. _Something_. C'mon, tell me."

He sighed. "Picked up our answering service calls. Another canceled job." He faced her. "Holing up here is killing our company." Maddie's big, wet burp summoned a smile despite the worrisome topic.

"What do you want to do?" she asked, wiping their daughter's mouth and tossing the cloth.

He thumped the table in frustration. "Nothing we can do till Blake's over. We'd be sitting ducks if we go about our normal life in the city." He tenderly stroked his daughter's soft hair. There was no way in hell either of them would put the kids at risk. He hunched his shoulders remembering the attack a few days ago, the 'what if's' making his stomach roil.

Dismayed, "It could take months to round up the Blake leaders, Wayne. What-"

He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, the need to comfort his wife trumping business concerns. "Hey, it's okay. Our savings can cover the mortgage and bills for months." Deliberately positive, "Cho said the pressure will let up once the FBI starts taking down the leaders. Blake will be too busy saving their own skins to worry about us."

She turned in his arms. "When does Cho think they'll act?"

He shook his head. "Dunno. Soon as possible."

She shifted Maddie into his arms. "I'll go decrypt more of those bas–" Rigsby cleared his throat as Ben came in, "–Blake names."

**Late Afternoon, Hilton Hotel, Washington, DC**

Lisbon shucked her jacket and put her badge and gun in the hotel room safe. No Jane. She found him on the pool deck. Though the pool was closed and covered for the season, Adirondack lounge chairs invited guests to enjoy the fall colors in the extensive landscaping. Jane was the only one out, sitting in a double-lounger and bundled against the chill with a blanket from their room.

Lisbon got a carry-out coffee and tea from the nearby hotel café, then slipped out onto the deck. She stood a moment. Jane was holding a book but hadn't turned a page in five minutes. She handed him the covered tea when he noticed her.

"Wait," he said as she moved to sit. He spread the blanket out on the other half of the double-lounger. She sat on top and pulled the blanket edge over, cocooning. "Got your hair done," he noted, appreciating the return to her rich brown-black color.

Settling in, "Had time 'cause the raid was quick. Only a few had the tattoo and Delulio turned them over to locals for processing." At his raised eyebrow she explained, "Abbott wasn't around so Delulio took lead." She ran her hand over her newly dyed hair. "–Can't stand bleached blonde hair with dark roots."

He smirked. "What about brown hair with blonde roots?"

Lisbon answered with a peck. "Penny for 'em." She sipped her coffee.

He lifted the book. "Reading."

"You were not. What's up?"

He shrugged. "Want to do anything with the rest of the day?"

She shook her head, scrutinizing him closely. "You're in an odd mood." They were getting better at this. Blunt demands didn't work with Jane (or her, were she honest). But if she persisted low-key, he increasingly let more out, was more open.

"Meh. Tired of playing tourist."

She let it rest a few minutes. "What do you want?" _Tourist. Hotel. Exile. Extended stay motel ... for ten years. Hm._

He looked at her fondly. "All I need is you."

"Not what I asked. What do you _want_?" When he didn't answer, "Jane - Patrick, you're allowed to _want_ things too you know."

He turned to face her. "What do _you_ want - longer term I mean?"

She tipped her head non-committally. "I'm happy being with you in Austin till you've worked off your five years."

"Then?"

"I, I'm not sure. I'm not sure about living in the apartment for five years. But if I–" at his glance, "–if _we_ bought a place, that's a big commitment to Austin."

He sipped the tea. "Where else? California? Chicago?"

"Despite the Blake and CBI mess, California still feels more like home."

"With Rigsby and Van Pelt. What about Cho?"

She frowned. "I don't know. We're gonna miss someone no matter what city we choose. And given what an SOB Abbott is, I'm a little worried if we cut and run on Cho."

"Hey. No 'cut and run.' He's helping me–"

"–_Us._"

"–us, and I'll figure something out."

She waved her hand, brushing away the digression. Deep breath. "So what do you _want_, Patrick?" He tipped his head, ducking a straight answer. She waited him out.

Finally, "You're not the only one who misses the CBI. The team. I _want_ that, some of that, back."

Forehead wrinkled, "I can't see everyone on one team again. But we could be in the same area, in our own place. Keep up with friends." Suddenly stricken. "Uh–I mean after you're free from the FBI."

"Yeah." He shifted, clearly done with the topic. "Something else is on your mind. What?"

"Forgot. We need to get with Cho. Everyone else was sent back to Austin. Abbott wants to meet with us tomorrow."

**Restaurant, Washington, DC**

Cho nixed Lisbon's suggestion of Korean, grumbling that he ate it all the time at his mom's not to mention the better selection on the west coast. They ended up eating the Moroccan food Jane craved despite Lisbon's dark mutterings about spoiled consultants. Having banned shop talk during the meal, they lingered over traditional mint tea and spiced Arabic coffee to discuss tomorrow's meeting.

"What's the play?"

Amused, "Ah, you always beat around the bush, Cho." He sipped the tea, uncertainty quickly replaced by appreciation.

"A lot riding on this," Cho said, the assassination attempt and hit to the Rigsby's business on his mind.

"Abbott met with whomever this morning. Was shot down–"

They exchanged glances. Lisbon bit, "–Which you know how?"

Jane rolled his eyes. "Abbott's completely predictable. He wants Blake. Now that he knows the great cult leader is still with us, he wants Stiles and Visualize as well. He's _offended_ at Stiles getting away with murder, at Visualize hooking up with terrorists without penalty."

Cho, under his breath, "Why shouldn't he be?"

"Spoken like a cop. Abbott wants to go after Blake, Stiles and Visualize, guns blazing. Got shot down because he doesn't have a solid plan. That's why he flew back to Austin and let Delulio handle today's raid." At their blank stares, "He's seeing what he can get out of the Blake assassin before talking to us. He doesn't _like_ us, barely trusts us, and is uncomfortable with our approach."

Lisbon, dryly, "Comforting. Simple to convince him then?"

Jane grinned at their pessimism. "Absolutely. We're all he has left. –You need to follow my lead tomorrow. The only possible hitch is convincing Abbott that going after Stiles is a fool's errand."

Lisbon, doubtfully, "You're sure Stiles is innocent?"

Cheerfully, "More likely he's guilty. Fortunately that's not the issue. It's too coincidental for evidence to surface just when Stiles is ready to rejoin the fray. Abbott will balk unless we can prove the evidence was faked."

Cho. "What if it wasn't?"

Serious. "I am one-hundred percent certain it's faked. Stiles had 40 years to cover up the one thing that could destroy him."

Cho frowned and exhaled. "I'll have Wylie get us the file tonight."

Lisbon suggested, "Have Wylie take a look too. He's sharp on faking things with technology."

While Cho called, Lisbon raised another matter. "Jane, you asked Stiles to help Abbott get promoted. That bothers me."

"Go on."

"That could backfire. Abbott won't want help from Stiles."

Cho ended his call and chimed in. "Would consider it a bribe."

Unfazed, "Which is why we never tell Abbott."

"But then why–" She broke off and shook her head. "Never mind. I get migraines from your wheels within wheels."

Jane just smiled.

They ended up at the Hilton to go over the file since Cho's FBI-paid lodgings weren't nearly as nice. Jane clearly paid to upgrade. Cho cut short wondering how Jane always seemed to have unlimited funds (but never change for vending machines or small bills for tips). It wasn't much of a mystery when Jane could make hundreds of thousands in a single night of poker. Cho blinked. That explained the previous night. Jane would only be playing poker with the agents to make them like him, like Cho's team. _Makes sense._

It was 2 a.m. when Wylie called with his discovery.

**Morning, FBI Field Office, Washington DC**

The four filed into the same windowless conference room as last time. Abbott looked tired.

He opened. "The meeting with Stiles was aborted by my attempted bust. Will Stiles still deal?"

Cho answered. "Yes. Jane and Lisbon met with him two days ago."

Abbott's eyes widened, his only reaction. Lisbon was impressed.

Cho continued, unperturbed, "You authorized us to sound him out. We did."

Abbott mastered his reaction. "And?"

Jane answered. "Stiles will ID Blake leaders under certain conditions. He needs a letter from the AG giving him and Visualize immunity from prosecution for any past crimes, including abandoning the murder investigation. Jason Cooper gets a pardon." Lisbon exchanged puzzled glances with Cho. _That wasn't the deal._ Abbott didn't notice.

Abbott's expression settled into cold anger. "No."

Cho spoke up. "Boss, you have the chance to eradicate a nationwide, maybe international criminal organization before it gets entrenched. This is as big as blocking the mob from getting started."

Frustrated, "I don't care if it cures cancer. It's irrelevant if I can't get authorization."

Jane continued, "Stiles says there are 200 Blake leaders. Bertram's drive has 70 names. You'll miss most of them without working with Stiles. The drive keeps Stiles honest since the deal is void if he fails to ID anyone on that drive."

Bluntly, "I cannot overlook murder and terrorism ties, Jane." Interest piqued regardless, "Why would Stiles agree to that? What if he doesn't know everyone Bertram listed?"

Jane sipped his ubiquitous tea. "Stiles built a worldwide cult with millions of members in 40 years. Whatever you think of Stiles, he will know them all. Correct me if I'm wrong, law enforcement _often_ overlooks crimes in return for even more useful information."

Abbott shook his head, still angry. "I don't care if he knows the Pope. I can't – don't _want to_ – sell that to my superiors."

After a moment, "What would you need?"

"The 40 year immunity is unacceptable. And we have solid evidence that Stiles arranged murders. There's no statue of limitations on murder and we can use that to squeeze Stiles."

Lisbon spoke, "Except Stiles is staying in an embassy. He can run Visualize from anywhere, so we really don't have any leverage."

"Jason Cooper is very much subject to our prison system. Maybe he'll cooperate."

More tea. "Jason Cooper is owned by Bret Stiles, body and soul." He leaned forward, closer to Abbott. "If we can prove the murder evidence was faked?"

Reluctantly, "Then there'd be something worth discussing."

"Can we have till this afternoon?" Jane looked slightly anxious. More exchanged looks.

Harshly. "Get back to me by 2 p.m. and I can still meet with the Deputy Director. Otherwise, we continue this in Austin. I'm not convinced Cooper's loyalty extends to a ten year prison term."

Cho responded, "Yes, sir."

Abbott left. Cho and Lisbon pinned Jane with their gaze.

Jane smiled. "Pleasant day for a stroll and leisurely lunch."

**Fogo de Chão Brazilian Steakhouse, Washington, DC**

Lisbon, Cho and Jane compromised on Brazilian this time. The meat-dominated cuisine pleased the agents while the variety and new flavors appealed to Jane. They managed to find a table quiet enough to talk.

Cho gestured with a forkful of beef. "Jane, why piss off Abbott? That wasn't the deal."

Jane fastidiously took a bite of his seafood, closing his eyes in pleasure. Refocusing on the conversation, "We need more than a deal. It needs to be Abbott's deal."

Lisbon thought aloud. "Abbott will never let any of us meet with the Deputy Director. –_He_ has to sell it." Jane smiled and nodded encouragingly. "If Abbott thinks he got big concessions from Stiles, he feels better about it, has more 'ownership.'"

Cho added, "Counters his dislike for us and what we came up with." Another Jane nod.

Lisbon continued, "So Wylie's catch eliminates the potential murder charge. And Abbott thinks he bargained Stiles down to immunity just since McAllister's death." She winced at mentioning the serial killer. Jane seemed not to mind.

"Exactly." Mockingly, "The hard-nosed, hard-headed law enforcement agent prevails over the shady con man. He champions justice and civil order against the e-e-e-vil cult leader and corrupt Blake Association." Lisbon pounded Cho on the back as he choked on a mouthful of coffee.

Recovered, Cho snorted, "You really don't like Abbott!"

The smile didn't reach his eyes. "Not after how he handled the CBI take down. –Oh. Be sure Wylie shares his discovery with Hastings before we meet with Abbott."

Cho blinked, but made the call before they left the restaurant.

**Mid-afternoon, FBI Field Office, Washington DC**

"Cho?" asked Abbott, joining Cho's team in the conference room.

"Got what you need, sir." Cho slid a sheaf of papers across the table to Abbott. "Murder evidence first. These are faxed copies of the bank drafts and notes." Cho pointed to the type-written lines. "Wylie determined these typefaces didn't exist till the '90's. Whoever created these documents faked them on modern computers. Won't stand up in court."

Abbott grimaced in disappointment. Brusquely, "Give me a minute." He pulled out his cell phone and left the room, closing the door. Lisbon and Cho each pursed their lips, not appreciating having their honesty questioned. Jane's expression remained perfectly neutral.

Abbott returned a few minutes later. Seating himself, "What else?"

"Immunity for Visualize and Stiles for under three years. From when you busted the CBI, till we start our bust of the Blake leaders."

Abbott inhaled deeply, his satisfaction apparent. "That's much better."

Jane noted, "The FBI is free to pursue Stiles if anything does come to light. You've won that running room. _And_ you'll get the names of Blake leaders."

Cho resumed, "Jason Cooper won't be pardoned till Stiles delivers, but Stiles needs him out of prison to access Visualize records and list the Blake leaders. I recommend electronic monitoring and an FBI guard detail."

Abbott rumbled, "Acceptable."

Jane straightened, eyes intent upon Abbott. "Someone high in the FBI either is Blake or is a Blake spy. Will you ensure secrecy till your simultaneous raid so they don't disappear?"

"Despite your opinion of us, Jane, we can handle basic law enforcement protocol. Word will not get out until the take down." Glancing to Lisbon and Cho, "I expect all of you to respect that protocol. No off-the-record heads up to former colleagues. Understood?"

Cho. "Yes, sir." Lisbon and Jane just nodded.

Abbott stood. "_This_ I can work with. I'll let you know tonight if the Deputy Director agrees. It will take him a day to get the AG's approval. Then a Bureau attorney and Stiles's attorney will draft the agreement." Jane took a breath to comment, but Abbott cut him off. Condescendingly, "Yes, Jane. I'll make sure the attorney is trustworthy. Dismissed."

Cho's team arrived in Austin before midnight, their bone weariness attesting to the avalanche of events since the attack on Abbott and Fischer.

The AG's letter was finalized four days later.


	31. Chapter 31 - 200 Ducks, All In A Row

**Chapter 31: 200 Ducks, All In A Row**

**Washington, D.C.**

Dennis Abbott pulled out the chair to seat his wife in the up-scale DC restaurant. The local FBI agent providing security took a table nearby and ordered coffee. Abbott bowed to the need for security but that didn't mean he liked it. Rather than drag an Austin agent to DC, the two offices handed off the security detail when he traveled. They ordered drinks, made their selections and set aside the menus.

Lena sipped her daiquiri and gazed curiously at her husband. "Deni, I know you can't talk case details, but you were away all week instead of the two days you expected. And after being injured too." Her fond expression was laced with distress.

"I'm fine," he responded automatically. At her visible concern, he repeated more convincingly, "I'm fine, Lena. No more headache and the double vision is completely gone. He sipped his own drink. "There were ... complications but it seems to be working out."

Careful to keep it general, "You got the go ahead you wanted?" She'd figured out he was going around Marion Schultz, head of the regional office and his direct supervisor. _High stakes._

He nodded. "I'm thinking this will be the critical step in putting a long case to rest." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, reflecting on the week. "Damnedest thing. The former CBI team–"

"–Cho's team, right?"

He nodded, "–is a force unto itself. I was right."

"Good? Or bad?"

He snorted. "Both. They're smart and experienced and effective. And nearly impossible to control. Half the time I'm not sure who's managing who."

She frowned. "Insubordination?"

"Not on ordinary cases. Just the one they really care about."

"Expected, no? You said from the start putting those three – Cho, Jane and Lisbon is it? – onto a team was risky."

"Jane's the main problem. He's as far from FBI material as I've seen. Razor sharp, devious - anything _but_ a team player. FBI had an APB out for them," public knowledge he could mention. "Eluded that and proceeded with the case without a 'by your leave.' An asset if I could control him."

"Which you say you can't." She looked at him inquiringly.

"When this case is over, not sure what the hell to do with him."

She commented gently, "Sounds like there isn't enough trust for teamwork on either side." Her husband grunted and sipped his drink, indicating it was an uncomfortable truth he wasn't willing to discuss. Yet. Her practiced eye caught a fleeting expression. "You're relieved about something." Not a question.

Dennis admitted sheepishly, "I was set on a course of action. The con man proposed something else."

"And?"

"Good thing he did. Evidence was faked. Kind of mistake on which careers crash and burn."

She unsuccessfully tried to hide a grin, "Wounded pride, Deni?"

He puffed out his cheeks. "Maybe. Indispensable for this case but after, who knows. Chronic chaos." He sighed, "Enough. That's tomorrow's headache. –How's Kimmie?"

"Settled in our guest room. Doctors say she's healing well, but she's in pain."

"Physical or psycholo–"

"–Both. Painful adhesions – internal scar tissue. Physical therapy's s'posed to help. It'll take time to get over her father's death – and betrayal. I never would have thought Don Fischer would go dirty."

Decisively, determined to make it be true, "She'll be okay. She'll be a stronger agent in the end."

Quietly, "Hope some good comes of this terrible experience."

Dennis cleared his throat. "Enough FBI talk. Why does Commerce want you here?"

"VIP conference. Boss says I need to be seen if I want that promotion."

"He's helped your career so far. And if you get it–?"

Enthusiasm tempered by anxiety, "I'll have to relocate. I," she swallowed, "don't know how we juggle marriage 1,500 miles apart."

Dennis was chary about the vetting process, about what might surface _before_ even facing long-distance marriage. He only said, "We'll make it work, Lena. Always do."

Talk turned to easier topics: Their younger daughter's new job, her sister's almost-serious boyfriend, tentative plans for year-end holidays. They got to spend the night together in a luxury hotel before he flew back and resumed work on Blake. It was his biggest success. But unless he got the leaders, it could be the case on which his career foundered.

**Austin**

_The morning sun painted the bedroom gold and teased red highlights from Lisbon's hair. The pristine picket fence glowed white, contrasting sharply with cool green lawn and vividly hued flowers. His wife nestled against him, warm and soft. The faint smell of sex from earlier hung in the air. He planted a fond kiss on her silky hair in appreciation. Then a bang, the patter of feet, and a child's laughte–_ **BZZZZ ... BZZZZ**

Jane groaned and reached for his cell on the night stand. Lisbon slept on since it wasn't her ring tone. He shrugged off the utter cliche his subconscious had served up as he blinked away the fog of sleep and disappointment of reality. He took himself to task:_ I'm back with Lisbon! More than I hoped for on that wretched island._ He answered the phone.

Quietly, "Jane ... Cho, why are you calling at the crack of–" he glanced at the clock, "-10? ... We were tired. ... Now?" He sighed, "Okay, see you then." He tossed it on the table and collapsed backward onto his pillow. He turned and stroked Lisbon's bare shoulder, goosebumps trailing his touch.

"Mmmm." She shifted closer.

Jane caressed her face and whispered sweetly, "Cho will be here in half an hour, dear."

Nothing. Then she squeaked and sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "Cho?! We have a case?"

"Uh-uh. Something about security. He insisted on _now."_

She swore and tumbled out of bed, wanting a shower before facing company. Jane rose leisurely and roughly straightened the bed.

"Breakfast in a trice," he called. If _she_ hurried, he'd also have time to shower.

Thirty minutes later Lisbon and Jane sipped their coffee and tea while Cho finished a second helping of pancakes and eggs.

"Thanks. Skipped breakfast."

They had waited politely till Cho finished eating. Annoyed at being hustled through her Saturday morning, Lisbon demanded, "Out with it, Cho. What's up?"

Cho slid back from the table as Jane cleared dishes and refilled his coffee. "Blake will be a lot more dangerous now that we're tackling the leaders. Need better security _now_." Regardless of Abbott's intentions, they expected the secrecy to fail. There were 13 other agents, the Deputy Director, an unknown attorney from headquarters. Too many potential leaks. Just moving Jason Cooper from the pen would be a heads up for Blake.

"We pair up anytime we're off FBI premises. What more do you have in mind?"

"You and Lisbon are the big names. Blake knows you either have the drive or know who does. I'm pairing up with you two."

"Jane and I _are_ a pair. What–"

"Jane's no good in combat." Jane frowned but didn't – couldn't – disagree. "You're protecting yourself and a non-combatant. Not good enough."

"But Wylie–"

"Wylie and Hastings started sticking together when we were in DC. Makes sense to continue."

Jane suggested slyly, "Tired of computer gaming and techno babble?" Cho pinned him with a flat look. Jane ducked his head and looked away, muttering, "Too amusing to let pass."

Lisbon and Cho ignored him. "Cho, what good is it if you're across town?"

"Two apartments side-by-side. You and Jane take one. The other for me."

She frowned, "Still useless if you're locked out."

"We need a connecting door."

"What?!"

"Access and surprise. Wylie's place was tossed last week." Cho answered the question on Jane's face. "Got nothing. –And Rigs said a stranger was hanging around Grand Junction. Scared off when the sheriff tried to approach him."

Lisbon puffed her cheeks as she exhaled. "Think the apartment manager'll agree?"

Jane suggested, "With money to change it back, sure."

"Good." Cho rose. "Let's talk to your landlord."

Lisbon was taken aback by Cho's urgency, but couldn't think of a reason to delay. Jane's dazed reaction during the firefight at Abbott's was too recent a memory.

By evening, they had a connecting door through back-to-back closets.

**Tuesday, FBI, Austin**

Abbott addressed the assembled Blake team members and Cho's group. The 17 people crowded the small space. There was no help for it since Abbott insisted on the soundproofed room. He wouldn't take the chance that the briefing would go beyond those present – even to other FBI personnel or the occasional visitor.

He held up his hand and they quieted immediately. "Last week I reached an agreement with Bret Stiles of Visualize." He ignored the murmur that went around the room and lifted a sheaf of papers. "Stiles identified 203 people as likely Blake Association leaders. This is our best chance for finishing off Blake."

An agent raised his hand. "Wasn't Stiles reported killed by an explosion in California?"

"In error. Stiles has been recovering from an illness outside the US for the last 31 months. While we were arresting low-level Blake members, Blake took control of Visualize. It uses unwitting Visualize members for criminal activity."

Another agent asked, "What about murder charges against Stiles?"

"Dropped. Agent Wylie discovered the evidence was faked, confirmed by Hastings. The US AG immunized Stiles and Visualize for crimes committed from when the Blake Association was exposed until we start arresting the leaders. Also Jason Cooper, formerly of Visualize, will be pardoned for an embezzlement conviction once we confirm these are Blake leaders."

He continued. "Each of you is assigned a set of names from the same organization or geographic location. Investigate and look for evidence proving the individuals are Blake. Look for patterns, payoffs and connections to known Blake members. –Judges who dismiss cases against Blake members. Supervisory LEO's who protect Blake members reporting to them."

He paused till every eye was on him. "Your research will be followed by a simultaneous raid of everyone we believe is Blake. Maintain strict secrecy so we don't tip them off. We'll continue occasional raids of PD's and state bureaus to make it appear we're continuing our former approach. Get your assignment and get to work. Dismissed." Abbott handed the papers to Delulio, who called each agent up by name to get his particular list. Abbott paused by Cho. "My office in ten minutes."

**FBI, Austin, Two Months Later**

The case burned through weeks like wildfire as too few agents researched too many suspects. All worked 10-to-12-hour days and most weekends. Abbott repeatedly rejected requisitioning more agents. He came to the same grim conclusion each time: Moles had compromised the effort earlier and he wouldn't risk this promising lead.

High stress suppressed immune systems and flu traveled through the group a month into the effort. Lisbon's bronchitis yielded to antibiotics, fortunately before Jane's hovering triggered more than sharp words. It didn't help that Jane escaped the flu.

Jane was useless for computer research, but he often caught the odd, telling detail that confirmed a suspect's guilt, not just for Lisbon and Cho but the whole group. Stiles's list was the gift that kept giving. So far every individual investigated appeared to be Blake. Occasionally, a low-level Blake member was brought in for interrogation and Jane helped with that as well. To Abbott's amazement, Jane made every effort to ease tension, to leaven the endless hours of peering at computer screens. Bakery goods and premium coffee appeared unexpectedly in the break room. He took take-out orders, at first just for Lisbon and Cho, but soon for everyone working Blake. An amusing story, a timely distraction kept frayed nerves from becoming ugly friction.

Wary after years of working together, Cho finally asked. Jane's answer was painfully straightforward: Breaking the back of Blake was Jane's ticket to a normal life. _With Lisbon_, Cho mentally added. Jane had spent a quarter of his life getting Red John and now hunting Blake. No wonder he desperately wanted to close that door.

Former SCU employees and colleagues suffered sporadic attacks, which luckily were unsuccessful. And then they had three weeks with no attacks at all. Lisbon was euphoric; Jane, worried.

**Late November, FBI, Austin**

It was Thursday night two months and three weeks into investigating the names from Stiles.

"Ready?" Jane asked.

Absently, "Almost. Let me just–" Lisbon scrolled down to finish reading financial information on a Blake suspect, "check one more detail." She startled then melted with pleasure as Jane kneaded her shoulders. The relief from muscles tightly knotted by weeks hunched over a computer was almost better than sex. Almost.

Lisbon relaxed into his touch for a minute, then clicked off her computer. "Hey. It's after – eight," she said, surprised when she checked her watch. Noticing them about to leave, Cho rose and followed them to the elevator.

Noting Jane's distraction, she asked, "What's up?"

"Working through some ideas."

"Oh." She didn't press. Mentioning it at all meant he could be persuaded to talk. At home after a meal would be a far more favorable setting. They reached the lobby.

"Mr. Jane," the guard called, "Package for you."

Jane took the small package with a smile and 'thank you.' At Lisbon's frown, "Don't start. When could I get to the post office?"

Lisbon made a low noise of disapproval. It was hard to cite rules about getting personal mail at work when he was being unbelievably helpful. She almost bumped into him when he stopped dead.

"Jane!"

Unexpectedly intense, "Have to talk to Abbott tomorrow." Cho eyed him, but didn't ask. Useless until Jane was ready to talk.

The three paused at the door and checked out their surroundings. Cho got into his car, waited till Lisbon and Jane were in her SUV, then drove off.

Lisbon's stomach growled. "Go out or take-out?" she asked then sighed. If they wanted to go out they should have told Cho so he could accompany them.

Jane blinked and returned to the present. "How about delivery? Pizza?"

"With Cho?" They often folded Cho into their plans since he was staying next door.

"Rather not, if you don't mind."

She eyed him. "What's up? You only like pizza for closed cases." Jane was the only person she knew who was indifferent to pizza. Jane waved off the question, dialing in an order at their favorite pizza place.

They timed it perfectly. Jane unlocked the door while Lisbon paid the pizza guy. Jane dropped onto the couch with a sigh. Lisbon set the pizza on the counter, put on water for tea and got a beer for herself. She brought pizza and plates to the coffee table.

A few slices later Lisbon asked, "What ideas?"

He finished chewing and sipped his tea. "Van Pelt e-mailed the complete set of names today."

"Anyone Stiles missed?"

"Stiles listed everyone on Bertram's drive."

"Good, right?"

He ran hand though his hair. "It's who's not listed that worries me."

_Worries? _"But we _know_ Stiles has more names than Bertram."

He shook his head. "That thumb drive was prepared before all hell broke loose. Why weren't Partridge, Alexa Shultz, and Reede Smith included? Or McAllister for that matter?"

She guessed, "Bertram knew them personally?"

"Yes. But then why weren't they on Stiles's list? As head of the Sacramento FBI division Shultz certainly would be a Blake leader."

Exhausted and beset with cramps from her period, she snarked, "Because he didn't want to or maybe he knows Shultz is in prison. –C'mon, Jane, spit it out!"

He echoed, seriously. "He didn't want to. Why?"

Reining in her temper she threw out, "To protect them." Then, thinking further despite her annoyance, "Or ... he wants to go after them himself?"

Jane pounced. "Exactly!" Lisbon waited silently, done guessing. After a moment Jane continued. "Blake and Stiles are enemies. Certainly not to protect them. Whoever Stiles omitted he wants badly enough to risk voiding our agreement."

Still no comment.

Jane took a deep breath. "Despite the religious window-dressing, Visualize is a 'strong man' regime, ruled by fear and intimidation. Yet Stiles is old. Was sick – dying. Out of the country two years."

She responded slowly, "Stiles has to deal with the usurper himself. He can't just let the FBI handle him."

Jane nodded. "What's the penalty for a coup, regicide or," his lips quirked in a humorless smile, "-deicide?"

Her eyes widened, "Stiles will kill him. –Grainger?"

He shook his head. "Grainger's a figurehead and on Stiles's list. Someone else, probably known by Bertram. So well-established in Visualize that Jason Cooper couldn't blunt the coup."

"You're giving me a headache," she complained. "Why's it matter? So we have one more unknown Blake member to hunt."

Grimly, "There's another implication."

Wearily, "Don't make me drag it out of you."

"Blake's planning a major attack on the FBI."

She gaped at him. "Because you _think_ a name was omitted?! What?"

"That and no attacks for three weeks." Jane rolled his head uneasily to relieve tension. "Should have seen it earlier. Stiles agreed too easily, went along when I threatened to squeeze Cooper for the names." Intensely, "Stiles is using the FBI as a diversion."

Confused, "Doesn't Stiles want the FBI to arrest Blake leaders?"

"–Follow along. Stiles struck the agreement with us. Every Blake member arrested is one fewer 'accident' he has to arrange. Stiles is still under the radar, maybe Blake isn't following him closely after two years. Blake continues focusing on Bertram's drive, goes after anyone who might have it – hence, all the attacks. Stiles spends the last two months verifying who engineered the coup, finding his location. Now he needs a distraction. He leaks FBI plans for a major raid. Blake knows they're toast unless they can stop the whole operation, not just a few former CBI employees. Lisbon, the only way the Blake Association survives is by attacking the FBI and derailing the investigation."

"Everyone working on Blake knows Stiles's list."

"Precisely. That – or worse."

She blanched. "Take out the whole team? Seventeen people?"

"Or worse."

She almost asked what could be worse then remembered the Murrah building in Oklahoma City. _All too possible._ "Stiles would manipulate Blake to kill dozens or more for a distraction?"

"He'd prefer low key, but he'll do whatever it takes. The main thing for Stiles is to distract Blake so he can kill his opponent. Then Blake leaders scatter or the FBI arrests them. If the attack fails, the FBI still goes after the Blake leaders. If it succeeds, he's re-established his position and can slowly eliminate the Blake leaders without endangering Visualize's reputation."

"The FBI would investigate to the ends of the earth. Even if Stiles can't be nailed for the attack, he could be for arranging his opponent's murder, whoever that is."

"He has immunity. When better?"

She stared at him, stunned to think Stiles would commit murder under the nose of the FBI. She sputtered, "Abbott – Abbott'll have a heart attack!"

Neutrally, "Stiles would use others. No proof of anything."

Lisbon sat back and mulled the theory over. "I understand the reasoning, but it's kinda thin, Jane. –A lot of assumptions from a missing name or two from Bertram's drive."

Tortured eyes caught her gaze. He said, almost whispering, "But if I'm right?"

She held his gaze for long moments then wilted. Dully, "Which is why you want to talk to Abbott." He nodded. "And if Abbott doesn't see it your way?"

"I don't know." Upset. "It's dangerous. We'd need to be out of there."

She violently shook her head. "Goddammit, Jane. We are not running. Tell me you're not serious."

Frustrated. "I don't want to. We'd look suspicious as hell if we disappeared before a major attack."

Lisbon glared, waiting to hear a better idea – anything else. Jane looked utterly weary and she flashed back to their decade of hell. _God, I'm tired of this fucking case! Got rid of Red John and we're _still_ dealing with the bastard's followers years later._

Resigned, Jane just said, "I'll have to convince Abbott." Glumly, "I'll call Madeline. Ask her to watch for someone Bertram might have known turning up dead – recently, or soon."

Exhausted and depressed, "I'm turning in." Lisbon rose, sidestepping Jane's attempt to take her hand.

Jane stayed up longer, checking and rechecking his logic and intuition. He knew Lisbon was more tired than angry with him. The thought crossed his mind that the period-that-was-late had come, meaning... He shook his head, not wanting to get into that emotional morass. It was enough that she didn't think anything of it. There probably was nothing more at work than stress and exhaustion. He finally turned in well after midnight.

Neither slept well.

**Austin, Morning**

Cho, Lisbon and Jane met outside the apartments, linking up as they agreed. Cho glanced then looked again: Dark circles, bags, standing too far apart._ Not good._

"You're gonna tell me, right?" Jane nodded. "_Before_ you tackle Abbott." It was a demand, not a request. Jane gave another tight nod.

They walked to their vehicles and drove to work. Jane laid out his conclusions to Cho in the break room. Cho somehow looked grim without changing expression, then included himself in meeting Abbott along with Jane and Lisbon.

Abbott looked up as the three knocked and entered his office. He motioned them to sit and scrutinized them silently for a minute. "Bad news?"

Cho summarized. "Jane's figured out the next moves by Blake and Stiles. Blake is planning an attack against everyone working the case. Stiles is hoping to murder the person who engineered Blake's take-over of Visualize. Jane thinks Blake knows we're planning a major raid."

Abbott was unreadable. "Walk me through it, Jane." When Jane finished, Abbott pursed his lips and thought a few minutes. "That's a lot of assumptions, Jane."

Cho picked up the narrative. "Our moves are straightforward. Extra security precautions. For the team and building. Move against the Blake leaders right away."

Abbott's lips tightened. "Extra security in itself will alert Blake."

Jane leaned forward. "Blake _already_ knows something's underway. How else to explain the lull in attacks?"

"We can't proceed till we finish building cases against everyone on Stiles's list."

Jane protested. "You _can_ but are choosing not to. You're risking the whole operation for the last few names."

Abbott flushed darker. "This may be an unfamiliar concept, Jane, but the FBI is a _law-enforcement_ organization. If we arrest people without due cause, they'll walk."

Jane was increasingly frustrated with what, to him, appeared bureaucratic foot dragging. Lisbon spoke before Jane further clashed with Abbott. Of the three, she had the most credibility on this. "I faced this problem at the CBI. The team is done with about 190 names. So far, we've uncovered evidence to believe every person we've investigated is Blake. We can arrest the remaining 13 and scramble to assemble evidence they were arrested for good cause. Even if 13 walk, we'll have gotten the rest!" After a beat, "Worth a few apologies or even a lawsuit to stamp out Blake, isn't it?"

"Cho, how much more time before we're ready for the take-down?" Abbott had assigned Cho to plan the simultaneous take-down of the Blake leaders.

"Three days. Soon as I confirm the availability of manpower in a few bureaus."

"And Stiles?"

"Tail him."

Abbott rubbed his eyebrow and pierced Jane with his look. "Only with immunity, it won't matter, will it? You set this up, Jane."

Evenly, "And you agreed. Why?

"Hard to determine Stiles's culpability separate from Blake."

"Yes it is."

"You _wanted_ to protect Stiles. After all, what's another murder if it takes care of McAllister's protégé?"

Lisbon and Cho could read the anger behind Jane's impassive expression. Icily, "Stiles protected McAllister in Malibu. I have no reason to shield Stiles – quite the opposite. What I_ want_ is the Blake Association dismantled."

After a long moment Abbott let it drop. "Cho, finish the plan this week. I'll up security." He deliberately didn't share any plans about Stiles.

Lisbon interjected, "Anything involving the whole Blake team deserves extra caution. Avoid being in the same van, on the same flight." She swallowed. "Extend the secure perimeter to a hundred feet. Intercept and check all mail for bombs away from the building."

Abbott looked at her expressionlessly. "Dismissed."

Abbott's e-mail came out an hour later listing new security precautions for agents working on Blake. It took an hour-and-a-half before his superior, Marion Schultz, called to demand an explanation for the disruption, cost, and heightened press scrutiny. He was pretty sure she didn't buy his vague justification, but she neither pressed for details nor countermanded his decisions. The Deputy Director in DC couldn't intervene without exposing the agreement with Stiles and impending raid.

The rest of the week passed in a hurried blur. Abbott went over the final plan with Cho. There certainly was a silver lining. Assuming Blake had more moles in the system, it would be caught unawares if the raid occurred before they finished their investigations. Abbott called on an encrypted line and got the go-ahead from the Deputy Director. The raid would be conducted next week.

**At Home, Austin**

Lisbon and Jane spent a quiet Saturday, anticipating but nervous about the impending Blake take-down. The raid would occur early afternoon Pacific time on a weekday. It was easiest to locate their targets while they were at work. All but two targeted individuals were in the western US, making it easier to coordinate a simultaneous operation. Cho, Lisbon and Jane would be assigned to California, birthplace of the Blake Association (with Jane to be kept out of the actual confrontation). Plan details were known only by Cho and Abbott. The full team wouldn't be briefed till the morning of the raid, and would fly out immediately to work with local FBI agents.

It was Sunday when the three usually went to brunch.

"Where's Cho?" Lisbon grumbled, stomach growling audibly.

She and Jane waited outside the apartment to link up, glad that hassle would be over soon. After a few minutes, she knocked. After a few more, she called without response. Increasingly worried, she knocked loudly and used her key to enter what had been her apartment before Cho moved in.

They looked around. No Cho, but nothing was amiss. The dishwasher light glowed, patiently announcing a clean load of dishes. No forced entry. The bed was rumpled. No cell phone. Jane checked the closet, but it didn't look like anything was missing. The shower enclosure was dry.

"Maybe he just went in to work," Lisbon speculated.

"SUV's gone," Jane noted outside, lending support to that idea. "Still, it was his idea to always pair up."

Neither Abbott nor the front desk FBI security agent had seen or heard from Cho.


	32. Chapter 32-Ashes, Ashes, All Fall Down

**Chapter 32: Ashes, Ashes, They All Fall Down**

**San Francisco General Hospital**

Cho woke with a jerk in the dark, disoriented and exhausted. His back was killing him, shoulders and neck stiff. Dawn was breaking so he must have slept a few hours. The germicidal scent indicated hospital. Memory flooded his groggy awareness at sight of the slight figure sleeping in the bed.

_Late night call with bad news. No commercial flights. Hitched a lift on a military jet. Rental car to San Francisco County General ... where Ma was admitted for a stroke._

Critical treatment decisions had long been made and executed by the time he arrived. His mother had received tPA. The clot-busting medicine was life saving for ischemic strokes, but deadly if administered to a hemorrhagic stroke victim. This time the diagnosis was correct and prognosis good. Staff bent the rules and let him stay after he promised not to wake her. He mulled the information he'd extracted from the doctor and nurses. "Good" was a heavily qualified term. The tPA prevented devastating permanent disability by saving brain cells. But regaining most function would take weeks of therapy, first in the hospital and later as an outpatient.

While he was in Texas.

Responsible for a case extraordinarily important to the society he'd sworn to protect.

He suppressed a groan as he stiffly rose, and satisfied himself that his mother still slept peacefully. He kissed her cheek and quietly left to make a call.

**Grand Junction, Iowa **

Rigsby flung an arm out and felt for his burner cell on the nightstand. The display told him it was 7:30 a.m. And that it was Cho.

Softly, "Hey, man. Let me get to the kitchen to talk." Rigsby put his cell on speaker then started coffee and put an english muffin in the toaster. "Go 'head."

"In a bind, need your help."

"What's up?"

"My mom had a stroke. San Fran General–"

"-Geez, how is she?"

"Should recover. Mostly. It'll take weeks." Gritting his teeth, "I _cannot_ be here."

Disbelieving, "No family crisis leave?"

Swallowing audibly, "I planned the operation. Happening soon."

"Oh." After a moment, "I've been covering vacations for the sheriff's department, but nothing I can't get out of. –Do you need Grace too?"

There was a pause. "Yes. Wouldn't ask if–"

"It's fine. Tell me the details so I can fill her in."

An hour later Rigsby had resigned from his temporary post with the sheriff, kids were dressed and fed, and Grace was packing for the trip back. Her parents hovered nervously. The senior Van Pelt's feared it was too risky to return to San Francisco, but their daughter and son-in-law were firm. They would be back in San Francisco that night. Their business was in shambles and Blake was a threat. But they wouldn't refuse Cho's rare request for help.

They got Lisbon's burner cell call on the way to the airport.

"Hi, Boss." Van Pelt put it on speaker.

"Our mutual friend is gone and we're worried. Do you–"

"Yeah, he's in Frisco because of his mom. Said he left you a note."

"Thank God. Not the conspiracy then."

Jane interjected, "His mother?"

Van Pelt took breath, realizing they didn't know any of this. "The hospital called late yesterday. His mother had a stroke. Cadged a seat on a military jet to Frisco."

"Prognosis?"

"He says she was treated in time to make a good recovery. It'll take weeks. We're going back to help out."

Silence for a minute. "He's returning here then?"

Abruptly, "Says he has to, being key on the coming operation."

"Wish he wasn't, but he is. Okay. Keep us in the loop, huh?"

Rigsby spoke up from the driver's seat, "Hey, Boss. Can you tell us _anything_? We'll deal with everything else, but we're bringing the kids. I'm worried."

Lisbon answered carefully, "I can't provide details but it won't be long. You know he wouldn't have asked your help otherwise."

Rigsby sighed. "Okay. Be careful getting the bastards."

"Always. I'm gonna enjoy this. Talk to you soon."

"Bye."

**San Francisco General Hospital**

Cho's cell vibrated. He suppressed a flash of anger when he glanced at the display. _Damn. He has the plan, knows about my mom. He can't give me _one_ day?! _ He ignored it and continued talking quietly in Korean to his mother. It was mostly a one-sided conversation as her left side was paralyzed. He kept reminding himself: _Temporarily._

He summoned the courage to explain how the Rigsby's would be helping her in the next days to weeks. She knew even better than he did: There was no one else. His aunts and uncles were beset with serious problems of their own. One cousin was serving in the military overseas. Another lived cross country with four pre-school children. The others were in high school or even younger. A relative from Korea was living in the bay area while attending Berkeley, but she was only 17 and in no position to help.

As always, his mother "understood." She always understood, always placed him and his career first. It helped that she had long known of his former partner and best friend – a brother in every way but blood. But he couldn't get the scared, vulnerable expression in her eyes out of his head. His ill, elderly mother who spoke only broken English would have to rely on people she had only met a few times, people from another generation and another culture.

He took the last flight back to Austin. For the first time he regretted sticking with the SCU for so long. Yes, they finally got Red John and exposed nationwide corruption in law enforcement. But now he was paying a price for repeatedly forgoing team leadership, waiting so long to apply to the FBI. New to the FBI, he was in no position to arrange a post in San Francisco where career wouldn't so cruelly conflict with family obligations. He would fulfill his duty on this operation. Then he'd relocate to northern California as soon as possible, career be damned. He didn't look forward to telling Lisbon and Jane.

**FBI, Austin, Tuesday**

Tuesday began like an ordinary day till everyone working Blake was summoned to a meeting in a secure room.

Abbott addressed the 16 working on Blake. "Today we will arrest the suspected Blake leaders. The sealed envelopes being passed out by Cho provide details on your assigned targets including arrest warrants. Most of you are going after Blake leaders based in California. After your flight, you will connect with local LEO's providing assistance. A team of three or more plus you will apprehend each suspect. The Blake leaders generally are not active in field work – supervisory officers, judges, attorneys, and so on. Regardless, assume your target is armed and dangerous and take standard precautions. A few require full SWAT protocol, which will be identified in your packet." He spoke slowly for emphasis. "Once the target is identified, you and the local officers will remain in each other's company until the arrest. No telephone calls. No exceptions."

An agent raised his hand. "Sir, how confident are you the LEO's providing assistance are _not_ part of Blake?"

"I made every effort to hand pick LEO's who are above suspicion. At least three LEO's are assigned to assist each of you. Should one be corrupt, the likelihood is great the others will not be. Finally, we are using officers from jurisdictions different from the Blake target. The locals will not know the target until you arrive." He paused and looked around the room. "These are the best precautions we could devise. Risk remains. Be alert to anything that doesn't feel right. Use your judgment in balancing the assignment with safety. Clear?" A murmur went around the room.

Abbot continued. "Our team obviously cannot participate in every arrest of all 200 targets. The US Deputy Director has requisitioned agents from field offices and their branches who have not been working Blake. They will learn the identity of their targets just before the takedown time."

Another raised hand. "Where do we hold the suspect after arrest?"

"The nearest FBI field office. Details are in the packet."

"After the operation?"

"The arrest will initiate the suspect's journey through the Federal justice system. There will be significant work after the arrests. Many of you will be away from Austin for an extended period. You may inform spouses or others only _after_ today's operation."

"Get your away gear and weapon and meet by the rear lobby. We leave in 15 minutes."

The meeting broke up. Abbott spoke with Agent Pike who would oversee the Austin office till Abbott returned.

The group assembled near the rear exit and waited for Abbott. Special purpose FBI vehicles parked in a secured lot enclosed by cyclone fencing topped with razor wire. Cho had the key fobs for two vans for the trip to the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. Lisbon's hand paused him before he exited.

"Cho," she murmured, "use the remote from here." He pressed the remotes and the doors unlocked on first one van then the other. "-And the ignition," she added. The first van rumbled to life. He pressed the remote start for the other and–

****BOOM****

All dived to the ground, covering their heads. Flames shot into the air from a new 20' crater. One van was obliterated, the other engulfed in flame. Deafened, skin tingling from ferocious heat, they slowly rose, dazed. Cho and others brushed off a shower of sparkling glass. The concrete wall had absorbed the shock wave and shrapnel. The safety glass door fragmented into rounded crumbles instead of lethal shards.

Cho shouted, "Call the fire department! Anyone hurt?" They couldn't hear, but the question was obvious. Cho looked at each in turn. No one was injured. Abbott appeared, swore and turned back to issue orders to other personnel.

Agent Pike took charge of the chaos, coordinating with the fire department, local PD, and press. Amazingly, the explosion and fire did no damage beyond the FBI lot thanks to the area's seclusion. Pike stressed to the press that there were no injuries but refused further comment until the explosion could be investigated. Before he left, Abbott authorized Pike to call spouses of the Blake team to provide reassurance despite the operation's secrecy.

Twenty-three minutes later the team was on its way to the airport in a rented van.

**2:30 p.m., Pacific Time, Western US**

\- The bailiff opened the door and Judge Manchester watched in amazement as colleague Judge Parker was hustled past in handcuffs.

\- An assistant DA in Las Vegas was apprehended during an afternoon liaison with a working girl.

\- Madeline Hightower's coffee cup dropped and shattered as three LEO's interrupted her budget meeting to arrest Colin Cowell, the CIB team leader for organized crime. She blinked. _Organized crime. Damn Blake roaches!_ A bad day got worse. The man she was about to hire to head Internal Affairs was also arrested.

\- The head of the task force was arrested while working on a plan to prevent corruption in the Seattle PD.

\- Bret Stiles genially welcomed the FBI team headed by Agent Lisbon at the Sacramento Visualize headquarters. He and Jason Cooper led them to a meeting room in which six of the 203 people Stiles had listed were held by Visualize security, including Caleb Grainger.

\- The state senator representing LA was pulled over and arrested on his way to the airport.

\- Gabe Mancini grimly watched as two of his senior Sacramento FBI agents were arrested by Agent Cho's team.

\- The commander for the Arizona DEA was having lunch with a Mexican drug cartel representative. Both were arrested.

\- The San Diego medical examiner was interrupted during an autopsy. Agent Dilulio wounded him when he lunged with a scalpel.

By the end of the day, 194 of the 203 suspects were in custody. BOLO's were issued for the remaining nine. Abbott's team remained to interrogate the Blake suspects. The sheer number meant they would be in the field for several days. Each suspect would be interrogated by two agents at least once.

**Hotel, Sacramento**

Work day over, Lisbon closed the hotel room door and collapsed on the couch followed shortly by Jane. The morning's explosion, long flight, and dangerous op had caught up with them.

She nudged his shoulder. "We did it! Broke the back of Blake."

"Yes we did."

She didn't even mind the smug thread of satisfaction in his voice. "Everyone's safe. We can get on with our lives."

"Mmm." He raised a golden eyebrow and looked at her slyly out of the corner of his eye. "And what's 'getting on with your life' mean to you, my dear?"

She shrugged a little, dissembling. "Just – living without worrying so much."

"Preferably in California." It wasn't a question.

She tipped her head, "Feels more like home. But – it's only a few more years in Texas for you." She hastily corrected, "_Us_."

He draped his arm over her shoulders and shifted to partly face her. "So we head back here when we can?"

Her heart gave a glad thump at the 'we.' "Yeah." She startled at the sound of his cell phone.

"Jane ... Be down in a minute." He kissed her cheek and rose. "Gotta go."

"Wait – what? Where?"

"I rented a car. Need to make a quick trip and then we'll go to dinner. See if Tin Thai is as good as we remember." He was already at the door.

"Jane, where are you going?"

"To see Bret Stiles."

She sat up, frowning. "I should come then."

"I have a better chance learning what I need alone. –It's perfectly safe, Lisbon."

She peered at him a moment, then relented. "Go then. I'm sending in search parties if you're not back by six."

"Six it is."

**San Francisco General, San Francisco**

Cho slid his tray onto the table in the hospital cafeteria and joined the Rigsby's. Taylor slept in her carrier between Rigsby and Van Pelt. Sarah and her new husband had picked Ben up that morning.

Van Pelt said encouragingly, "Your mom's making progress. Movement on her left side, clearer speech. The doctor and therapist are optimistic."

Rigsby nodded his agreement as he scrutinized his friend. Cho, who never let anything show, was visibly exhausted and frayed around the edges. Rigsby clapped him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Cho. Getting better."

Cho allowed himself to slump slightly then shook himself and straightened. "I'm obligated till this case is over. How long can you help?"

Van Pelt, soothingly. "We live here. As long as you need."

Desperate for concrete information, Rigsby asked, "Today was the take-down. How'd it go?"

Cho looked around to be sure they weren't overheard. "Arrested all but nine of the 203. Two weeks of follow-up interrogations. Then it's prosecution's headache."

"That's it – Blake's over?"

Cho nodded. "Whoever we missed will be busy saving his own skin."

Van Pelt, "Then what? –For you, I mean."

Deep breath. "I'll relocate back here."

Surprised, "Reassigned that fast?"

"I'm quitting."

Stunned, Rigsby was the first to speak. "Don't do it, man. You wanted this for years."

"Need to be able to live with myself even more. FBI doesn't trump my family."

Van Pelt tried. "Cho, work the system – get Jane to help. You planned this operation and it went off perfectly. They'll want to keep you."

Cho rubbed his neck uneasily. "There's other stuff. Don't trust Abbott. Even more bureaucratic than the CBI."

They exchanged glances. Rigsby pressed, "Promise me you'll think about it for a few weeks." After a moment Cho gave a stiff nod.

Cho took a few bites and changed the subject. "What about you? –Your business?"

"Back to square one. To be expected after we disappeared for three months."

Cho frowned. "So?"

Van Pelt answered, "Hightower offered us jobs. Head of arson and head of computer crimes."

"Gonna take it?"

Rigsby nodded, "Think so. Our best option at this point."

Cho pinned him with his gaze. "You can work with Hightower?"

"Yeah. It's not charity." Cho scowled at his partner's eternal insecurity, till Rigsby surprised him. "I know we'll do a good job. More important, Hightower does too. The fact she'd hired one Blake member and was about to hire another scared her."

A grin struggled to escape as Cho leaned back. He tried and failed to imagine Hightower running scared, then enjoyed quiet satisfaction that his old partner had finally gained the self-confidence he deserved. Fatherhood and founding a successful business gave him that.

"Think she has room for one more?"

Van Pelt smiled coyly. "Sure of it. After today she asked LaRoche to head IA!"

Cho cracked a smile. "Never thought that would happen. Why?"

"Rumor is she said she couldn't stand him after he targeted her for Todd Johnson's murder. But she's sure he isn't Blake and this time _she's_ on top."

Cho wiped the unfortunate image from his mind. "Old home week. Will he take it?"

Rigsby nodded. "Yeah. IA for SFPD was a big step down after the CBI was dismantled."

It was 9 p.m. before they left the hospital. Cho's friends urged him to stay with them, but he had interrogations starting early the next day and he drove back to Sacramento.

**Visualize, Sacramento**

"Patrick. I was expecting you," Bret Stiles said as he stirred his tea, resplendent in an iconic cream colored suit. He motioned Jane to serve himself from the sideboard and take a chair.

Jane took his time preparing tea. "Then you know why I'm here."

"I prefer you voice your desires. More civilized, don't you agree?"

They sipped tea in silence. Jane finally ventured, "How many are left?"

"My sources tell me you got 194 of the 203 I listed. Bravo." With a slight smile, "I believe that leaves nine."

"And how many more that you didn't list?"

"Oh, Patrick, you really are overly suspicious. Must be the law enforcement company you keep." Carefully, "As I said, there are only nine surviving Blake leaders I know of."

"And the ones who didn't survive?"

"Why you know better than I about McAllister and Bertram."

Jane rolled his eyes but let it drop. "So I needn't worry that more Blake vermin will inconveniently appear?"

"I truly do not think so. Life will be much calmer now that the FBI dismantled Blake." He sipped then added, "Thank you."

"About the other part of our agreement..." Stiles remained silent, forcing Jane to speak. "You'll help Abbott advance?"

Stiles waved his teacup gently, "I will do what I can." He paused dramatically.

"But?"

"But your Agent Abbott seems to have some skeletons to address." Jane blinked, expression unchanged. Stiles continued with a sharper edge. "Some inconvenient history will likely surface during the vetting process for his lovely wife Leah's promotion. ... I cannot remedy that."

Delicately, "What sorts of skeletons?"

"Old ones." He gave a nonchalant wave. "Something about an incident on the Mexican border. –I'm sure you can get to the bottom of that."

"And after I deal with those 'skeletons'?"

"Why I think Dennis Abbott is an examplary public servant. His highly visible success dismantling Blake would naturally lead to rapid career progress."

"To DC?"

"Do you care?"

"Not really. Just out of Texas."

"That can be arranged." Stiles moved to end the meeting, then leaned back as he gathered Jane wasn't done.

"Dennis Abbott still dreams of _your_ arrest, you know."

Stiles shrugged. "Not surprising. Irrelevant since he will never get an excuse to act."

Jane looked at him for a long moment then rose. "Illuminating, Bret. I'll find my way out."

"Good day, Patrick."

**Sacramento**

Jane walked into their hotel room at 5:45.

Lisbon looked up from the newspaper. "How'd it go?"

"Fine." At her inquiring gaze, "There likely aren't more Blake leaders – other than the nine we know about."

"Stiles told you that?"

"You know Stiles."

"So not in so many words. –What else?"

"Dennis Abbott may have some inconvenient history."

She blinked. "Like what?"

He shook his head. "Don't know. But I'll poke around and find out."

She stood, faced scrunched in dismay, "Not blackmail! _Promise _you're not planning that."

He kissed her. Mildly, "Of course not."

She closed her eyes and set it aside. "We're invited to dinner by Hightower."

"Oh?"

"She offered Wayne and Grace jobs heading their own teams. Apparently Blake was trying to reestablish itself in the new CIB

Calmly, "Naturally. Create a new organization and Blake will want to colonize it. Did you accept her invitation?"

"You make it sound scientific. Um, yes I did accpet. We can get out of it if you–"

"Not at all. I'd enjoy seeing Madeline."

"You have half an hour before we have to leave."

An hour later Lisbon pulled up to the large, graceful house surrounded by wrought iron fencing. She glanced at Jane in the passenger seat and thought about how different it was from last time. The gates silently opened after she identified herself on the intercom.

Hightower rose and lightly hugged Lisbon. Jane pecked her on the cheek and handed her the bottle of wine. Hightower's eyes widened in appreciation when she glanced at the label, then she turned her attention to her guests. "Teresa, Patrick, welcome. You're both looking good." And they were: Healthier, happier, less stressed. _Finally!_

The maid provided their preferred refreshments and they seated themselves in her exquisitely decorated yet comfortable sitting room.

"I'm glad you could join me. You're obviously here for the Blake operation?"

"Yes. Finished except a week or two of interrogations," answered Lisbon.

She leaned forward, "How confident are you you got them all?"

Jane responded, "Very. Bret Stiles provided the list of Blake leaders."

She tilted her head. With a small smile, "That must have been an interesting conversation." Jane just smiled. Briskly, "Perhaps you've heard. Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt will be heading teams in the CIB.

"Yes, they mentioned it to Cho–"

"-Who mentioned it to you. They left San Francisco shortly after the first Blake attacks but are back in the area now."

Lisbon gave rein to her curiosity, "Thought ex-CBI agents were politically toxic."

Hightower waved that away. "Two, almost three years is an eternity in politics. Frankly, the chance to recruit good agents who I _know_ are honest is irresistible." She sipped her wine. "Ever think about coming back to California? Rejoining the CIB?"

Jane leaned back, deferring to Lisbon. "Sure, it's crossed my mind." Lisbon shrugged and shook her head a little. "It's moot since I'll be in Texas with Jane several more years."

Hightower turned to Jane. "No way to work around that?"

Lisbon replied before Jane could. "I need to work with Jane as long as he's there."

Jane added, "Afterward is a different story."

"So you both want to return to California?"

Jane let Lisbon answer. "Probably." Simply, "It's home. But there's a lot of time between now and when that will be possible."

"I see."

Conversation turned to all the changes in California law enforcement during the time Lisbon and Jane had been away. Hightower extolled the advantages of a fresh start. Of course the new CIB needed a clean break from the CBI corruption. But also it was Hightower's opportunity to modernize, to focus resources where most valuable rather than being hampered by past decisions and politics. She was grateful not to have any connection to Bertram's sordid past, much of which only came to light as an army of FBI agents sifted through the cases, and records, and bureau finances.

Dinner was perfect. They expected no less from Madeline Hightower. They had just finished dessert when Hightower received a call.

Glancing at the number, "I have to take this, excuse me." She moved away from the table and spoke quietly. At one point she stilled and took a deep breath. Shortly after the call ended.

Expression grave, "I have to go to a murder scene-"

Both rose, "–Of course. We can–"

With a level gaze, "–You might want to accompany me."

Both frowned, puzzled. "Madeline? Why do you say that?"

She licked her lips and blinked. "This may have more to do with you than me or the CIB." She wouldn't say more. After exchanging glances, they decided to go with on the strength of Hightower's suggestion.

Forty minutes later Lisbon and Jane pulled up behind Hightower's CIB SUV. A, rambling, modern mansion sat atop bluffs high above the river, surrounded by the better part of a square mile of forested land. A Bentley gleamed in the driveway, as different from police cruisers as a thoroughbred from draft horses. Jane gave it another good look as they passed by on the way to the mansion. A glance through windows in the four-car garage revealed a Ferrari and Lamborghini as well. Jane smiled, thinking that the cars alone made it worth the trip.

Hightower was approached by the LEO managing the scene. After a brief conversation she turned to Lisbon and Jane. "Death occurred at least two days ago. But it isn't gory."

Jane appreciated the heads up, especially after having eaten. Hightower's words turned out to be little preparation after all. The medical examiner gave a matter-of-fact commentary, explaining that the bluish-purple lividity and degree of bloating meant the man had died one to two days earlier. There was no obvious cause of death. What had brought the matter to Hightower's attention was the fingerprint match done using a smart phone – standard equipment in the new CIB.

Ray Haffner hadn't died in the Malibu explosion after all.


	33. Chapter 33 - Uncharted

**Chapter 33: Uncharted**

**En Route, Sacramento**

Lisbon and Jane rode back to their hotel in silence. Haffner's death hit them hard for different reasons. Though it was decades since Lisbon was squeamish at murder scenes, it was another thing when a bloated, decaying corpse was someone she'd known. _ Hell, someone I dated_. _How'd he escape the explosion? Who helped? Why let everyone think he died? And the money! Money enough for a mountaintop mansion and ultra-luxury cars! _Every speculation led places she shied from. Haffner had been one of Jane's seven Red John suspects, but it was McAllister in the end. Where did Haffner fit in? Innocent cop/colleague/casual friend? Or something more sinister?

Memories flitted through her mind unbidden. The not-bad-looking – _Okay, handsome _– fellow agent, amicable, admiring. A few pleasant dates that went nowhere. Mutual recognition and respect – a friendly competition. And then complications when Jane joined the team. She realized with a jolt: _Bosco; Haffner, too?_ Jane had a genius for pissing off people he didn't like. Soon after Jane entered the picture her occasional dating forays all ended quickly. She mentally shrugged. She hadn't much cared then and she certainly didn't now. Realizing she'd drifted far afield she shook herself from her reverie.

Forty minutes into the drive a stoplight provided an opportunity to eye Jane. Jane stared sightlessly out the window, mind no more on the present than hers was.

"Hey," she said quietly, "penny for 'em?"

He blinked. "Pardon?"

"What are you thinking?"

"What do you think?" She gave him a long-suffering look, years past playing that game. Eyes now closed and head against the headrest he relented. "Haffner was the link between Visualize and Blake. McAllister turned him."

Lisbon flinched at the thought – sadness, disappointment and blazing anger. She'd really hoped Haffner was not involved at the time and had grieved his unwarranted death at Malibu. _Now what should I think? _She refocused on the road as the light changed.

"McAllister was at that farm along with Haffner. Stiles noticed both, helped them, encouraged them. McAllister would have been the favorite. Though Haffner was intelligent, McAllister was brilliant. Eventually he and Stiles had a falling out, maybe because his bloodlust threatened Visualize. Whatever the reason, McAllister left, recruited followers, founded Blake. He had something on Stiles that prevented Stiles from turning him over to the cops. ... Or me."

She glanced at him, his face alternately shadowed and lit by streetlights. Stomach churning at the thought, "Did – did Haffner _know_ McAllister was Red John all along_?_"

"Probably ... not," he slowly concluded. "Haffner wasn't that good a liar. I would have picked up on something that big. After the split, Haffner became Bret's favorite. I always wondered why he left the more prestigious FBI for the CBI. The CBI connections would be more useful for a cult headquartered in California." After a pause, "That move put Haffner under McAllister's man Bertram. McAllister turned Haffner sometime before Malibu. When he arranged the explosion, all three were rescued. Stiles was a useful tool; Haffner, his Visualize mole. –That's why Haffner didn't have the tattoo."

"And?"

"McAllister's death left a vacuum and Haffner seized control. With Abbott arresting the Blake foot-soldiers, Haffner had to replace the revenue fast. Stiles was dying. Haffner had the credibility to overthrow Cooper. Delivering black market drugs and guns was something Visualize members could do. Lucrative."

"Haffner liked fine things," she mused, remembering Haffner's job offer, gripes about California budget cuts, and his hand-tailored clothes when he visited after Red John marked her. _My God, Haffner was working for McAllister by then!_ She shuddered at the ugly truth hidden by Haffner's clean cut image. Another roach hiding in plain sight all these years.

"Appears so."

Lisbon pulled into the hotel parking deck. Neither moved. She voiced _the_ question. "Was Haffner murdered?"

"There are no–"

"–coincidences," they said simultaneously.

"Stiles?"

He nodded, face lined and tired in harsh fluorescent light. "For his reputation. And revenge after Haffner's betrayal." Jane sat motionless and morose, not bothering to hide it.

Lisbon's forehead creased. "Do _not_ go there. _Stiles _had him killed."

"I knew he'd kill the usurper. Just wondering whose tally to increment – Stiles, mine, or both."

Equally dismayed and irritated, "Jane – don't do this. You didn't even like Haffner."

"I live in a charnel house, Lisbon. Angie and Charlotte. Renfrew. Bosco and his team. Kristina. Leelee. Wainwright. Lorelei. And others who'd be alive if I'd been smarter. Faster."

Suddenly she was by the open passenger door, tugging his arm. Determined. "Not any more. C'mon." They rode the elevator up in silence.

Jane sat slumped at the foot of the bed while Lisbon bolted the door. She walked over, slid his jacket from his shoulders and started unbuttoning his vest.

Voice flat. "What are you doing?"

"Changing the subject." He shook his head, but jerked when her fingers brushed his skin as she started on his shirt.

And she did.

Despite reverberations of death and rage and guilt, her hands and lips evoked a response. His body betrayed him, life insistently surging. He was alive and loved. He loved in return. They coupled, desperate and intense and rough. Sated and enervated, he fell asleep instantly. Listening to his deep, regular breathing Lisbon was satisfied in return, not only sexually but also in intent. He had overcome daunting odds to rejoin the living. She'd be damned if she'd let him wallow in the past. He'd returned to share his life with her and, by God, that is what they would do. Blake was _over_.

Lisbon woke first the next morning, pleased Jane remained soundly asleep. She showered and dressed, brushed her hair and did her make-up. Distracted, she startled to see Jane leaning against bathroom doorframe clad in just boxers. She surreptitiously put her hand over the blister pack card with 28 spaces – all empty.

Belatedly, "Morning."

He nodded and gave her a crooked grin. "Thanks for giving me a swift kick last night. ... And for the distraction."

"My pleasure," returning his grin. Picking up yesterday's conversation she sighed, "Red John's dead, Blake's over, you're back. And _now_ you're gonna be depressed? You said you wanted a life. I'm holding you to it."

_Great – irritation blended with empathy. _He shrugged diffidently. "Yeah. I needed a shove to get my head out of my ... past."

Lisbon fastened her other earring, forgetting the card on the counter.

Jane motioned with his chin. "We going to talk about it sometime?"

_Damn._ Casually, "Sometime."

Two steps and he pulled her against his chest, arms around her waist. "I'm not opposed, you know," facing her reflection.

_Like I 'know.' How the hell would I know anything you complicated, confounding man? _She turned in his arms. "Do you _want_ kids?"

He pressed his lips together, frowning in thought. "I _need_ you. What I _want_? Not so clear." He took a breath. "I – I'd like to have a home, make a home with you. It's been a long time. ... For the rest, we need to work it out."

"Hey. So long as we keep talking." Reaching a decision, she unconsciously squared her shoulders. "Doesn't have to be California. Not if it's gonna bring it all back up."

He brushed her lips in a kiss. "I want California. It's just–" he sighed, "I'm tired of death, everyone dying around me–"

"Not everyone. Not Cho and Rigs and Grace. Us."

"Thankfully," he agreed. "There is that. Maybe we can we do something that doesn't focus on death? For awhile?"

She kissed him back. "We'll talk, okay? –Lots of time since Abbott owns your ass for the next few years."

She didn't catch his, "We'll see."

After a moment he extricated himself from her arms to start his morning routine. They were out the door a half hour later.

**FBI, Sacramento,Wednesday**

Cho pulled them aside to an empty observation room as soon as they arrived.

Curious, "What's up, Cho?"

He squarely faced them like a soldier at attention. _Conditioned for life_, Jane thought idly.

"Boss. Jane." His lips tightened. Flatly, "I'm breaking my promise. Relocating to California soon as the Blake interviews are over."

_Ashamed of going back on his word, but decided,_ thought Jane.

Lisbon asked, "Your mom?"

Cho gave a stiff nod.

Jane sat casually on the corner of the table. "Think Abbott will help?"

"No. Irrelevant."

Jane tipped his head to the side with a smile. "Make him. Or let me. Don't be stupid."

"My business." Cho was confused_. Jane's – happy? What?!_ He shrugged ready to end the uncomfortable conversation and start work.

"Cho, wait."

He turned back. Lisbon tried and failed to hide her distress at his announcement. He really hoped she didn't think he'd change his mind. "Yeah?"

"Haffner turned up dead. Died a couple days ago." She glanced at her partner, "Jane thinks he was murdered."

Cho wrenched his focus back to business. "By?"

"Stiles."

He silently worked through the implications. "Abbott will grab that like a bulldog. He'll think you knew in advance," he said looking at Jane. "If Stiles did it, any way to nail him for it?"

Jane responded thoughtfully, "No. Stiles would work through others. Or he could have fanned fears that Haffner would betray the Blake leaders. Let Blake take care of it for him."

Cho chewed that over, the cop in him offended at being unable to prove who arranged a murder. Stiles came closer to equaling Jane than anyone else Cho knew of. It wasn't the first time Cho was relieved Jane had no interest in founding a cult or heading a conspiracy.

Lisbon broke the silence. "I want us – you, me, Jane – kept out of it. We're done tackling massive cults that would hound us till the day we die." She glared at Jane, daring him to argue. Surprisingly he nodded his agreement.

Cho looked at them appraisingly. "Visualize is shady, sometimes criminal. But not nearly as destructive as Red John and Blake. See what I can do."

It would have to wait. Abbott's entire team began interviewing the nearly 200 Blake suspects, entailing more long days, six or seven days per week. The agents passed around the tired joke that needing eight hours of shuteye disqualified you from the FBI. There was exhilaration, too. Most had been working Blake for nearly three years. They had rounded up literally thousands of low-level Blake members. Now they were getting the leaders, courtesy of the unlikely personage of Patrick Jane. Few thought of him as a con man and murderer anymore.

The team already had enough to make charges stick on their suspects. This was the chance to get leads on undiscovered Blake members before they ran. The agents involved Jane when they figured a reluctant suspect had information worth uncovering. With 15 agents conducting interviews Jane was continuously busy.

Abbott summoned Cho, Lisbon and Jane to his temporary office just after lunch.

"Sir?" Cho entered and seated himself along with Lisbon and Jane.

"Raymond Haffner was found dead yesterday."

"We heard."

"He supposedly died two years ago in that explosion," Abbott glanced at Jane, "at your house." He looked back to Cho. "Why didn't you report it?"

"Hightower would notify you if a suspicious COD is established. You were busy," Cho replied. That morning as soon as Abbott assigned interrogation duties he left to calm California law enforcement honchos and handle the press. Another big Blake operation in California inevitably sparked media interest and renewed friction with local law enforcement. Hightower mentioned the curious death of Haffner to Abbott in passing.

Abbott continued quietly, ironically. "Hightower's ME declared it murder. Decomposition makes it uncertain, but it likely was by injecting a massive overdose of insulin via the navel. Clever." Jane shuddered at a distant memory of his close call with a murderer who had a similar MO. Abbott leaned back taking in all three. "Thoughts?"

Cho responded for his team. "Suspicious. Haffner turning up alive. The murder." He looked to Lisbon and Jane. "Pick up anything at the scene?"

"Jane and I were there as a courtesy for a former CBI colleague. We didn't notice anything beyond his death."

Abbott's eyes narrowed. "Jane?"

Jane raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Coincidental, but not much evidence to go on."

Irritation beginning to show, "Give me your ideas un-supported by evidence."

Lisbon replied neutrally, "Ray Haffner used to be in Visualize. He was one of Jane's seven key suspects before McAllister proved to be Red John. No one on my team – _former_ team had any contact with Haffner since he was presumed dead in Malibu."

Abbott turned a piercing gaze on her. Mildly, "And how would you know unless you talked about him?"

It was harder and harder to set aside her dislike for the man. Lisbon snapped, "They'd have mentioned it. A dead man surfacing is kinda noteworthy."

Jane smoothly picked it up, "Abbott, I had no idea Haffner survived till Hightower invited us to the scene. Haffner's involvement with Visualize and escape from the explosion imply connections to McAllister and Stiles." He leaned forward for emphasis, "But I have nothing concrete about his death."

"Didn't come up when you met with Stiles?"

Jane leaned back and smiled faintly, "So you _have_ been tailing Stiles. And me?"

Cho interrupted. "Sir, we know nothing more than you. You have doubts about us – Jane especially. Argues against our being involved in the case."

Voice hard and cutting, "Each of you: Did you know Haffner was alive?" Each answered 'no' as he looked from person to person. "Did you know Haffner would be killed?" Another round of negatives. "Do you know who killed him?" 'No's.' "Who do you suspect?"

"Blake or Visualize," Cho hazarded.

"The same," answered Lisbon.

"Stiles, but purely a guess," answered Jane.

"Why did you meet with Stiles?"

"To confirm that our deal was done. He gave up the names. The FBI rounded them up. Finis. Didn't want loose ends with Stiles."

Abbott looked at each with a jaundiced eye. "Assuming there's a Blake connection, I'm assigning it to Dilulio. _For the moment_ I'll assume none of you had prior knowledge or any involvement. Make yourselves available for questioning."

Only Cho had the grace to say, "Yes, Sir." Lisbon and Jane grudgingly nodded.

A 50-something, slight, beautiful brunette woman brushed past as they left Abbott's office. She slammed the door closed.

Jane half-smiled. "That is one irritated woman."

Cho. "Marion Schultz."

"Ah." Jane suddenly whispered to Lisbon, "Sure you want out of the FBI?"

Frowning at the non sequitur, "Y-e-a-h. What's that got to do with anything?"

Voices indistinct but loud and angry were heard through Abbott's door. Jane only smiled as they headed toward the break room for tea and coffee.

Dennis Abbott silently sat through Schultz's withering diatribe. His division director had flown in that morning and was every bit as infuriated as expected. Abbott had left her uninformed when the press clamored for information about the explosion in the parking lot. Then she discovered she was completely in the dark about the day's major operation against Blake. And now, Abbott just informed her that the FBI's Deputy Director had authorized the operation. Abbott had gone around her. She was too angry to _hear_ Abbott's justification – that Stiles would only cooperate if just one of Abbott's superiors knew about the deal. She left. The door banged against the wall and drifted halfway closed. Abbott exhaled slowly. He sure as hell hoped his Blake success got him promoted out of Texas. Marion Schultz wasn't going to forgive and forget any time soon.

Schultz strode across the room ignoring the curious stares of Abbott's agents. A voice called out as she passed the break room.

"Alexa!" Jane's voice wasn't loud, but it carried. Projecting his voice was basic for a showman.

Her gait hitched and she turned her head sharply.

Jane's devilish grin met her gaze. "Thought so. Alexa Shultz is your sister – in fact, _twin_ sister." He took a few leisurely paces toward her, scrutinizing her like a bug on a lab slide.

Rough, angry, "Who the hell are you?"

"Patrick Jane, your consultant. –When you and Alexa joined the FBI you decided to spell your last names differently to avoid confusion, right?" He half-shrugged and added mockingly, "Sidestepped the embarrassment that your sister was a Blake leader, didn't it?"

If looks could kill, Jane would be buried six feet under. Regaining her poise she said icily, "You are out of line. Shut. Up. Or get suspended."

Jane smirked. "No worries. I can see you _aren't_ Blake."

Schultz ground her teeth and glared, then pivoted and left. A swell of hushed voices rose as the elevator doors hid her face red with rage and humiliation.

Jane strolled back to the break room. "I believe we have interrogations to tend?"

Lisbon and Cho gathered their wits. Lisbon hissed in passing, "First chance you're going to tell me what the hell you're up to!" She marched past, nearly as angry as Schultz.

Cho merely said, "Better know what you're doing."

The 15 agents and one consultant ground through back-to-back interviews for the rest of the day. By day's end, all were exhausted from non-stop intense concentration with wily suspects who knew the law enforcement system inside and out. Lisbon drew Cho and Jane aside as soon as Abbott released the team for the day.

Calm but still angry, "Out with it Jane. Why bait Schultz?"

"Eh, you know."

Frustrated, "Dammit, Jane."

Cho called him on it. "No secrets. That's the agreement."

Jane hesitated, thought about countering with the fact that Cho was breaking the deal. But that would inflict real harm when his friend was already torn by conflicting obligations. He reluctantly explained, "Confirmed she _isn't_ Blake." Both waited for more. "And I want out of the FBI and Texas." He glanced at Lisbon, confirming she wanted out too. "I'll be too useful for them to break the contract, but so irritating they'll want me gone."

"Oh, brilliant!" Lisbon exploded. "_That's_ worth risking 20-to-life?" Her sarcasm didn't quite hide her fear.

Cho calmly asked, "Sure it'll work?" _No wonder Jane's okay with my quitting._

Lightly, "Uh-huh. Guys, I don't second guess you when you say you can make a shot, take down a perp. I know what I'm doing," he ended with an infectious, encouraging grin.

Refusing to be charmed, "I'm s'posed to just stand around and watch the fireworks?"

He pursed his lips then smiled puckishly, "Pretty much."

Cho shrugged and let it go. Jane would do what he wanted and Cho had every reason to believe he'd succeed. Cho suspected Jane would have a lot more convincing to do with Lisbon.

Lisbon got up, setting it aside. "Delgado's for dinner. We'd better get going."

"I have to be somewhere else," Cho said and left immediately.

Lisbon and Jane joined the team for dinner.

**CIB, Sacramento**

"Will you hire me?"

The black woman regarded him coolly. "No."

Cho sat without reacting, then rose, "Thank you for your time."

"Sit down, Cho," Hightower said mildly, firmly. She smiled when Cho slowly sank back to the seat. "Not now," she expanded.

"Why?"

"Because you're being stupid." She was impressed when he didn't react to the jibe. "Cho, you're an excellent agent who's establishing an outstanding reputation in the FBI. You're _unnecessarily_ sacrificing your career."

"That's my call," Cho said tersely.

"Abbott said you planned this Blake operation – this _highly successful, important_ operation. A promotion is coming your way unless I'm mistaken. And I'm not," she said, her certainty almost as annoying as Jane's.

Stiffly, "I need to relocate to California immediately."

"For?"

"It's personal."

Hightower smoothed her perfectly coiffed hair. "Rigsby and Van Pelt will help your mother. And Abbott will give you personal leave." His eyes widened. She said, amused, "Don't look surprised. One of their conditions when I hired them."

"Why don't you want me in the CIB?"

Intensely, "If the FBI doesn't relocate you here within a month, you have a job in the CIB. But you'd be even more valuable in the FBI." At his faint frown, "Cho, the pissing match between the old CBI and Sac FBI was ridiculous. Wasted resources, constant friction and suspicion. If you stay with the FBI you can make that better."

Cho unbent fractionally. "Yes, Ma'am. But–"

"But your mother. How will she feel if you sacrifice your career for her?" Cho swallowed, said nothing. "Your friends will do anything for you. _Let them help!_ You can honor more than one obligation if you accept a little help." She looked aside and Cho caught an unexpected flash of emotion. "–No one is better off alone, Cho. I owe my freedom and my family's lives to help when I needed it."

Cho took a breath and released it slowly. "Director Hightower, how should I proceed?"

She was surprised and pleased. "Tell Abbott what you need and give him time to make it happen." She caught his skepticism. "Get high enough in law enforcement and everyone knows everyone. You and Abbott didn't start off well, but that's changed. Dennis rewards good people and, above all, results. You've earned his support. I believe he'll deliver."

"Yes, Ma'am." He stood and extended his hand. "Thank you for the advice. And – we can talk again if the FBI won't relocate me?"

"Absolutely. Best wishes for your mother."


	34. Chapter 34 - Is The Past Even Past?

**Chapter 34: Is The Past Even Past**?

**FBI, Sacramento, Thursday**

The Austin agents and one consultant straggled in bare seconds before start of the workday. Despite deep satisfaction for pulling off an important operation, the euphoria that temporarily offset bone-deep fatigue was gone. Three months of six- or seven-day workweeks of 12-hour days had exacted a toll that a night's sleep couldn't erase.

Lisbon wouldn't openly question Abbott's wisdom in driving the team that hard. No one asked her advice so she'd keep her head down and pull her weight. But that didn't change her opinion. She'd kept the SCU going for a decade under tremendous pressure from Red John, tragedy, a heavy caseload, and vicious CBI politics. Cho was frayed around the edges, shocking that it showed at all. Jane was uncharacteristically out of sorts. Jane complained all the time but never about anything serious, anything that suggested weakness. Nonetheless, long days of intense concentration reading and breaking their toughest suspects were exhausting. _Ah, to hell with it. We'll survive another week or two._

Everyone dutifully started the day's interrogations. Mid-morning, Jane exited an observation room for tea. Cho appeared simultaneously twenty feet down the hall. Lisbon was farther away still when Abbott appeared. Abbott sharply called Jane to his temporary office. _Great, he's finally heard about Schultz_, Lisbon thought. _ He'd know more if he were approachable._

Everything happened at once. Jane walked toward Abbott. A Blake suspect pulled free from an agent's grasp. Two quick steps. He smashed Jane against the wall with his shoulder and kneed him in the groin. Cho tackled the suspect, but not before the guy tripped Jane, kicking him as he fell. Jane's head cracked against the concrete floor, thin commercial carpeting barely softening the blow. Silence reigned for a breathless instant.

Then the suspect yelled as Cho pulled his handcuffed arms up behind his back. Instant pain, instant control.

"Lock him up, dammit," Abbott ordered.

Cho pulled the suspect roughly to his feet as the man shouted at Jane. "You're the murdering sonnofabitch that fucked us all, you bas–" Cho's elbow jab left him gasping. The agent hauled him away, ashamed at losing control of his prisoner.

Abbott turned to another agent, "Get a doctor up here!"

Jane groaned, curled into a ball around the pain. Lisbon knelt by his side, helpless to do much. Jane hissed as she checked the back of his head for blood. "Sorry," she murmured.

Ten minutes later Jane was on the couch in Abbott's office after being helped up by the clinic doctor and Cho. He was already insisting he'd be fine. Ignoring Jane's protestations, the doctor methodically ruled out concussion and broken ribs. Pain notwithstanding, Jane had received only a glancing blow to the groin. The doctor recommended he go to a trauma center. Barring that, he should ice his head and groin and rest. Jane clutched the icepack to his groin as he lay on the couch, head carefully positioned away from the throbbing lump in back.

Abbott started, "Jane–"

"–Not going," Jane bit out between clenched jaws. Pale and sweating from pain, he added, "Give me a half hour and I'll leave."

Lisbon confronted Abbott, "This wouldn't've happened if your agents were rested and sharp!"

"You're out of line, agent." Abbott's voice was dangerously soft.

Jane demanded harshly, "Take it somewhere else," and at last was left in peace to master his splitting headache and pain.

Cho stepped between Lisbon and Abbott to take an unfamiliar conciliatory role, "There's no permanent damage." Anticipating Abbott's impulse to insist on treatment, he added, "Lisbon will keep an eye on Jane. Get him to an ER if necessary."

After a moment Abbott let it go. "When do you think he'll–"

Lisbon scowled and said, "Monday. He won't be in any shape to work tomorrow." She stared Abbott down, silently daring him to insist on working on the weekend.

Abbott turned and announced, "Everyone gets the weekend off." Gruffly, "Make sure he's okay."

Calming herself down, "Yes, sir." Abbott walked off.

Cho and Lisbon exchanged glances and slumped, tension drained from the situation. She peeked into the office and was encouraged to find Jane had fallen asleep. His color was better and the pain killers seemed to be helping. She quietly closed the door. Now lunchtime, Cho offered to get sandwiches while Lisbon stayed near Jane.

They claimed a table outside the office and split the food. Agents passing by paused to ask about Jane and were relieved he'd be okay. They talked between the inquiries.

Hesitantly, "Sorry I p.o.'d Abbott."

"You're right." Swallowing a bite of food, "Saw it in Afghanistan. Exhaustion invites mistakes. Jane lucked out."

She frowned. "That was lucky?"

Cho nodded grimly. "The guy's a martial arts instructor at the LA police academy. Ideal recruiter for Blake. Without cuffs he could kill someone barehanded. If he even had room to kick box he would have done major damage."

"Geez." She took a deep breath and let go of the 'what if's.' "He hated Jane."

"Sure. Killed McAllister, exposed Blake. An easy ID with the vest and hair."

She ran a hand over her face. "It never ends. Jane's worked with us forever and he's still vulnerable."

"What if I taught him to fight?"

She shook her head. "Wouldn't work. You have to like mixing it up physically."

Cho exhaled slowly. "Yeah. That's what Rigs and I thought back at the CBI."

She sipped her coffee. "I think it goes back to his scumbag father." At Cho's inquiring look, "Jane never wanted to be _anything_ like him," leaving Cho to draw the obvious inference.

She sighed, discouraged. "Brilliant detective with zero physical capabilities. Without the team's protection..." She fell silent remembering an endless list of dangerous situations.

Cho blinked, eyebrows drawn together. "Boss, I shouldn't leave. What if they split you up on cases?"

Lisbon shook her head. Softly, "Go be with your mom. –We'll be okay."

"But if–"

"Hey! Jane's got a plan to get out of the FBI and Texas. No choice but to trust him."

"Don't like it." He exhaled in obvious dissatisfaction. Lunch over, they cleaned up their trash. Jane was awake when Lisbon checked so they left with Jane walking gingerly and slowly.

**Hotel, Sacramento**

A painful ride later, Lisbon tucked Jane into bed at their hotel. She was angry anew when she caught sight of bruises blooming purple and blue covering his left shoulder and the right side of his chest. Controlling dangerous suspects was fundamental in law enforcement; the attack on Jane should never have happened. Jane changed into the loosest boxers he owned. After more painkillers and much shifting in search of a semi-comfortable position, he gratefully yielded to sleep. She closed the door, glad he had insisted on upgrading to a suite with separate sleeping and living areas.

Lisbon had time to kill. Daytime tv was a hopeless wasteland and she hadn't brought any case files. At loose ends, she tried to nap on the couch, gave up, then let her thoughts roam unrestrained. Taking stock, she was a little surprised. She was back in a challenging law enforcement position. With Jane. In Sacramento (if only for this one case). And Blake was over.

_Now what?_

So ingrained was the habit of walling off hopes and dreams to get through immediate work, the current crisis, someone else's needs, she hesitated to unlock that door. Hope sprouted anyway. Delicate tendrils of possibility threaded their way through cracks in those walls until she _had_ to think about it.

_Jane came back for me, says he 'needs' me. So we – _we_ – have a future together. What's that mean? What if Jane can get out of Texas and the damn remaining 53 months of his agreement? Says he wants California too. To do what? I'm still pissed at being screwed over by the bureaucracy so the CIB is out. Would he go back into show business? I don't fit in that world ... and, frankly, he doesn't either anymore. _She swallowed. _And ... kids? He's 'not opposed.' Not exactly an enthusiastic embrace of parenthood. Is it even fair to ask? Losing his family, Charlotte especially, almost killed him. And, hell, I'm 40. Forget 'ticking.' That clock may have stopped dead by now._

Lisbon jumped up and peeked in to reassure herself Jane was still sleeping. She closed the door and booted up her laptop. Browsing the web confirmed her vague notions. Infertility treatment ranged from nothing more than timing intercourse to months or years of strain, injections, surgery, and constant tension. Then and there she rejected the most extreme measures. Aside from her own feelings, she wouldn't sacrifice their happiness on the altar of conception, not if it meant a long, uncertain, divisive, emotionally draining marathon. Jane willing, yes, she wanted a family and it finally seemed possible. But her priority was enjoying life with the man she had loved for over a decade.

Jane opened the door and made his way to the couch while rubbing sleep from his eyes. Lisbon snapped shut her computer and joined him.

"Hey." She looked him over, relieved that he looked better, no longer in much pain.

"Hey. Doing better," he volunteered. Frowning, "Don't know how well I'll manage work tomorrow though."

"Already told Abbott you won't be in. The whole team has the weekend off too."

Jane eyed her with a sideways glance and raised eyebrow. "I suppose you had nothing to do with that miracle."

She frowned and folded her arms. "Hmph. Abbott realized everyone's exhausted."

"Uh-huh." He yawned and blinked. "If we have three days, there are some things I need to do. I'll get dressed."

Her hand stayed him. "What about resting?"

"I rested." He tilted his head and pressed his lips together. "I – I'd like to go down to Malibu." At her raised eyebrows, "It's been almost three years." Reaching a decision, hesitantly, "Will you come?"

"I'll drive." She plowed on before he could object. "You need more rest. 'Sides, you don't want to be moving around any more than you have to, right?"

He winced at the thought. "Yeah. So long as you avoid bumpy roads."

"Why not wear sweat pants – something soft and loose?"

"Except I don't have any."

"In the gift shop. I'll buy you a pair while you get ready," she offered, getting up and grabbing her purse.

**En Route to Malibu**

The ride seemed endless. Lisbon was pleased Jane slept through most of the trip though she wondered about his intentions in Malibu. _His house, obviously. I forget he hasn't been back since before McAllister. Abbott's kept him on a short leash._ She sighed to herself. _Hope this is moving on, not re-living the past._

Instinctively, Jane woke about 45 minutes from Malibu. He opened his eyes but didn't move, preferring not to reawaken the pain. He watched Lisbon from the reflection in the window, surprised to realize her eyes glittered with unshed tears. They were approaching the scenic turnoff they'd stopped at before he met with the Red John suspects. Somehow it felt like both an eternity and just a moment ago. -They'd never had a chance to deal with it.

He turned his head, letting her know he woke. Quietly, "We should stop."

She started, surprised. Eyes fixed on the road, neutrally, "Why?"

"To deal with it. To start replacing bad memories with good."

She shook her head, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please, Teresa."

At the last moment she slowed and pulled off. She walked toward the cliff, never once looking at Jane. He followed slowly, babying his battered body.

He came up behind as she looked out over the ocean. A cloudless, luminous blue sky arched over the water. Waves crashed on rocks below, higher than usual from a recent storm.

Jane put his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her head. He said just loud enough to hear, "I meant everything I said." She didn't make a sound as tears slid down her cheeks.

She gave a shuddering sigh. "I know that - knew it then. I was furious. And terrified."

"Shhh. Leaving you was one of the hardest things I ever had to do."

She turned to face him, anger replacing tears. "You _didn't_ have to! I have the weapons training yet you _stupidly_ go off alone."

He stiffened, reacting in kind. "Yes, I _had_ to. One of those men was Red John – Red John who murdered women for pleasure, who slaughtered my family. I didn't want you within a hundred miles of him."

"Because I might get hurt–"

"Because you might get killed!"

She stepped back, shaking in anger. "And where did that leave me? What the hell was I s'posed to do if you got killed?"

He took a deep breath, straining to tamp down the emotion. Flatly, "Move on. Find someone, have a family, lead your life."

Scathingly, "You were away two years and I couldn't move on."

"But if I were dead maybe–"

Even angrier, "Do you hear yourself?! You killed Red John, thought you were exiled forever. Had two years, a whole island – the whole _world_ to choose from. How well did _you_ move on? _ You shouldn't have ditched me! We're stronger together than apart."_

He stepped closer and gently pulled her to his chest. "It worked out, Teresa. McAllister and the others are gone. We have that life now." He held her close as pain and anger were released almost three years late. Sobs dwindled to an occasional sniff. She leaned back a little and rubbed the tears from her cheeks.

Fiercely, "Don't you _ever_ take chances like that without me, understand?"

He pulled her close and kissed her temple. "I promise." He took a deep breath. "You've no idea what you mean to me," he choked and had to stop before he could continue, "but I plan on spending the rest of my life showing you."

She bit her lip and managed a shaky smile. They stood awhile in a loose embrace, wrung out from emotion, finally able to enjoy the breathtaking view.

Eventually, "C'mon, Jane. We need to get there before night."

**Malibu**

Lisbon set the parking brake and turned off the car. Jane's house lay before them, a modernistic sculpture resting lightly on the bluff. The setting sun cast light clear across the house through floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Now what?"

Jane carefully got out of the car. "Look around a bit. –We'll come back tomorrow. I just need to see what I have to buy." He painfully mounted the steps to the front door, unlocked it, and entered. Their footsteps echoed in the empty house. Electricity and water were off of course, but the house was only a little dusty. Jane's long time financial manager continued paying a cleaning service to keep the dust and cobwebs at bay with monthly cleaning, ignoring the fact that the Feds technically seized ownership when Jane fled. Only recently was the hold on his assets released.

Jane was pleased the house was largely in order. There were no broken windows, nothing obviously amiss. He didn't go upstairs. That would be for tomorrow. He broke his reverie, wondering where Lisbon had gone. He spied the open sliding doors past the kitchen and went that way. Lisbon stood riveted, looking at the now bare site of his home office. The brick driveway glittered, glass fragments from the explosion sparkling in the sun. He went to stand by her and only then saw the horror on her face.

"What is it, Teresa?"

She shook herself back to the present. Whispering, "It was awful. I went in after the explosion. It was still burning, thick choking smoke. The smells – melted plastic, burning wood, and – and burnt ... meat." She closed her eyes and turned her head, looking away from the destruction she saw so clearly in her mind. "There were body parts, burnt lumps of, don't know what. I was so afraid. Found Smith first. He was coming to. Saw the tattoo and tried to stop him but he ran. Then Bertram. And you. You were unconscious. Thank God you weren't blown to bits." Regaining her composure, "I didn't know how bad you were hurt. Didn't know you were okay till you woke up in Sacramento General." At his confusion she added, "You were transferred by helicopter. No way to protect you here."

Jane hugged her. "I'm sorry you went through that."

She cleared her throat. "We went through a lot of stuff." She shrugged, turning away from the site and the memories. "You know the rest."

"We're done here for now. There's a wonderful B&amp;B I know a few miles away."

After the day's emotional upheavals, they had the calm, subdued dinner they both craved. The bed and breakfast was every bit as nice as Jane promised. They fell into the bed's soft embrace shortly after they arrived.

The next morning dawned bright with a brisk breeze chasing patchy clouds across the sky. Lisbon was up first. Jane woke to find everything ached, but the sharp pain was gone. A shower and some ibuprofen relieved the stiffness. After a simple but excellent breakfast at the B&amp;B, they first stopped at a big box construction supplies store and then a small deli. They pulled up in front of Jane's house at about ten.

They left the food on the kitchen counter, the cold goods in a cheap styrofoam cooler they'd bought that morning. Jane then gathered several bags and the can of paint and mounted the stairs. Lisbon followed with the rest.

He paused on the upstairs landing to center himself. He didn't recall after so long, but was grateful to see the master bedroom door was open. _Any_ difference from that terrible night was a gift.

After a moment, Jane continued into the bedroom and set the supplies on the floor. Lisbon did the same and stepped back, unsure of what to do. Jane stood several feet away from the dull, brown smiley face, silent except for some deep breaths. Finally he dragged the mattress away from the wall and unbagged the supplies. Lisbon helped unfurl and tape a plastic drop cloth along the wall with the hated symbol.

He first took a utility knife and scored the drywall around the face. He pried up a corner of the surface paper. It peeled off in a single piece.

"Lisbon, if you could spray fixative over that, we can patch it when I come back." He picked up a can of lighter fluid and a disposable lighter and went downstairs.

She heard the sliding door open as she quickly sprayed the raw patch of drywall and tamped down the paper edges with her fingers. She hurried down after him.

Jane knelt by the firepit built into the patio, patiently soaking the drywall paper with the flammable liquid. He stood and pulled a scrap of newsprint from his pocket. He lit it and tossed it onto the drywall paper. It immediately flared up with flames. Lisbon stood silently by his side. He blindly sought her hand and laced fingers as the loathed symbol blackened and curled into ash. A few scraps were left when the fire burned out. He squatted and poured on more fluid, then used another paper to light it. The final bits burned and crinkled up. The ashes stirred in the breeze. One by one they blew away

They stood awhile in the bright sun, the breeze toying with their hair and clothes. Jane showed no emotion beyond a slight tremble to his lips. He eventually gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "C'mon. Let's get this done."

They returned to the bedroom. Jane patched the drywall with spackle. It had to dry before it could be sanded and painted. Downstairs again, he took the cooler and other food and led the way out back. Lisbon thought he was headed for the beach only to be surprised when he turned aside instead of following the path down. A long planked walkway led to a platform high above the ground. They took out the sandwiches and sodas then sat shoulder to shoulder on the perimeter bench as they ate. A canvas canopy had long ago blown away after deteriorating in the sun and salty ocean air, but the bright sun was behind them as they faced the endless ocean.

"It's beautiful."

"This was one of my favorite places. Angela and I would come watch the sun rise and set. It was wild watching storms blow in. Thunder heads would roll in with the wind whipping the waves into a frenzy."

Tentatively, "Did Charlotte like it?"

With a small smile, "She was more of a beach and sunshine girl. Didn't like heights or storms." Wistfully, "Might have changed when she got older." He'd never know.

"What will you do now?" _What do you want to do, where do you want to live?_

He glanced at her, lips quirking in amusement as he read her perfectly. "Sell it. I'm never coming back once we finish up today."

"Oh."

He blinded her with a full blown smile. "Time to start fresh, make a home with you."

She ducked her head, embarrassed at being so transparent. He nudged her chin up with his finger. "Hey." They kissed, promises made and confirmed without a word exchanged.

The sanding and painting took barely 30 minutes. They gathered everything up and put it out front for the Monday trash pick-up. Jane dragged down his daughter's old twin mattress and propped it next to the trash.

Doubtfully, "They'll take a mattress?"

Jane shrugged. "Probably. If it's the same team, they like me. And it's not like I've generated much trash for the last 13 years."

They were on the way back to Sacramento by mid-afternoon. Jane called a realtor he knew and started the process of listing the house for sale. Lisbon unexpectedly got a text from the Rigsby's inviting them to visit on Sunday. They had just relocated to Sacramento.

They reached the Sacramento city limits by early evening. Lisbon clicked on her turn signal to exit the expressway.

"Not this exit."

Turning off the signal, "Where? Why?"

"Second exit from here. Alexandria Cemetery."

She nodded. "Um, if you don't mind, why did you choose Alexandria – in Sacramento, I mean?"

"The Ruskins. Sacramento is closer for them. I didn't care."

Lisbon nodded, regretting the awkwardness but glad to know after wondering for years. A mile before the cemetary, Jane asked her to pull into at a nearby park.

Blinking with the realization, "Jane, is this really a good idea?"

He nodded. Shoulders hunched with tension he told her, "Stay here," and got out.

She saw him slowly walk to a grassy patch near a small pond. He stood, hands clenched in fists, motionless except for too-fast breathing. After several minutes he spat on the ground and turned back.

He took a shuddering breath and said, "Cemetery, please. It's–"

"I know where."

Lisbon pulled over and parked near the two gravesites. Jane got out and got something from the trunk. She stayed seated, uncertain about what he wanted till he stood by the driver's door and waited for her to get out. He took her hand and they walked to the graves of Angela Ruskin Jane and Charlotte Anne Jane. They stood surrounded by memories. Though Lisbon knew them only second hand through Jane, she'd had a decade to appreciate the depth of love and devotion they had inspired in this extraordinary man. Jane exhaled in a long, infinitely sad sigh. He stepped forward and knelt at Angela's headstone. Fishing a small hand shovel from his pocket, he dug a small hole, dropped in his wedding band, and covered it with the clump of grass.

Softly, "Full circle. I don't need anything to remember her. Them."

Lisbon hugged his shoulders as they walked. "I know, Patrick." She silently offered prayers for his family and for him.


	35. Chapter 35 - Getting Reacquainted

**Chapter 35: Getting Reacquainted**

**Sacramento, Saturday**

Saturday was the first lazy, unstructured day they'd had in ... forever. Lisbon lay awake, thoughts drifting as Jane slept soundly beside her. With a shock she realized it had been non-stop stress and striving since Jane returned to the US. The detention debacle. Settling into work at the FBI. The attack on Abbott and their stint as fugitives. Stiles. Then months of feverish work building cases against Blake leaders, capped by Tuesday's massive operation. By nine she was restless. Lisbon propped herself on her right elbow and toyed with an errant curl, musing that she could no more control it than she could its owner.

Jane yawned and cracked one eye open. "Have a heart, woman. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is still pretty damn sore."

She responded with a kiss. "We're gonna waste the whole free day if you don't get a move on, sleeping beauty."

He stretched and blinked, waking more fully. "Have anything in mind?"

"Not really. Don't want to spend it inside a hotel room though."

"I'd kind of like to bum around the city. Favorite haunts and all that."

Lisbon and Jane started with Marie's, where Lisbon delightedly confirmed the bear claws and gourmet coffee were every bit as good as she remembered. Even sweeter, the owner and one long-time server greeted them like long lost family. They walked the manicured capitol grounds amid a persistent feeling of deja vu. Next was Lisbon's church. Her favorite priest warmly welcomed her back if only for a visit. His carefully controlled reaction when Lisbon introduced them confirmed Jane's suspicion the priest knew far more about him than he liked. The priest eyed Jane curiously, but tactfully accepted Lisbon's disinclination to say much, making a point of welcoming _both_ whenever they were in Sacramento. Lunch time found them at a favorite diner of Jane's.

"Spill, Jane."

He looked over, jarred out of his thoughts. "What?"

"You've been restless for the past hour. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing important."

"Yes important if it's bugging you that much."

After a sip of tea, he scratched his head and fessed up. "I know we spent all yesterday at Malibu and the cemetery..."

"Y-e-s?"

"Would you mind terribly if we stopped at – at the storage locker?"

She opened her mouth lost at first, then caught on and nodded. "Of course. –Together?" He shrugged diffidently, but she could see the need for company – _her_ company – in his eyes. Softly, "If you wish, I'm honored."

They spent the next two hours poking through the detritus of Jane's former life as husband and father. Old fashioned photo albums (she realized he was no more enamored of technology back then than he was now). Charlotte's drawings. Keepsakes from Angela. Hand-made father's day and birthday cards. Lisbon wasn't embarrassed at tearing up only because Jane was too lost in memories to notice. He finally put the last of odds and ends from Charlotte back in a box and closed the lid.

Taking a deep breath, "I guess that's enough time spent on memory lane. This must be depressing for you. Sorry."

Lisbon paused, turned, and stopped him with a touch. Gravely, "Don't ever apologize for remembering your family, for being sad. Your devotion to them was when I realized how much more you are than a con man, Jane."

Embarrassed in turn, "Hmmh. If you say so," he mumbled and continued walking.

Lisbon and Jane toured a favorite park, walked along the river, stopped for ice cream. The only place they didn't stop was the old CBI building, now closed and padlocked, awaiting its final fate. They at last came to O'Malley's.

Swirling her soda, "Jane, why've you been looking at me all afternoon?"

Quick smile, "I have? Must be because you're my favorite sight."

"Cut the crap," she said affectionately. "I know when Patrick Jane is reading me. What's up?"

"This openness stuff will be the ruin of me," he grumbled. "Just want your real reactions."

"Couldn't ask?"

"Nope. You, my dear, are famous for doing what you think is best for others. I want real reactions, not what you think is best for me."

"And you learned?"

"That you're fond of Sacramento, like it here despite the disappointments."

"Whaddaya know? Think I said that several days ago."

Cheeky grin, "Happy to confirm it."

The evening ended with O'Malley's famous burger and fries platter which had no redeeming virtue other than tasting great.

**The Rigsby's, Sacramento, Sunday  
**

Van Pelt answered the door and Lisbon and Jane crowded in out of the rain. Cho was already on the couch watching the game amid stacks of boxes; Rigsby, in the kitchen with Taylor. Van Pelt's happy squeal attracted Rigsby and both glommed onto Jane. Jane yelped at the bear hug from Grace and solid thump from Wayne, more in anticipation than actual pain. Lisbon stood back from the crush and Cho came over to stand behind her.

They let go as though burnt. "S-sorry," Wayne stuttered. Grace stepped back, hand over her mouth in dismay.

Cho explained, "Suspect got loose. Took it out on Jane."

Mouth open to comment, Jane instead dropped to a squat when Ben charged toward him and tripped on the way. Jane scooped him up.

Rigsby grinned, "Wise move, man. That bowling ball head can do real damage!" and reaped a disapproving look from his wife.

"Perp already did."

"I know you! I know you! You're Jan!" Ben burbled excitedly, recognizing him from photos and not the least bit shy.

"–_Jane, _but you can call me 'Patrick,'" he corrected. "A-n-d, you must be Taylor?"

Ben frowned in outrage. "Naw, that's the baby! – the ultimate insult. "I'm Ben, her big brother."

"Nice to meet you, Ben." Jane smiled widely and turned to the adults.

Grace approached to relieve him of Ben, but Jane waved her off. She said instead, "Gosh, Jane. I didn't know–"

"It's fine."

Wayne boomed, something between a grin and grimace on his face, "Landed a good one?" Cho's lips quirked.

"Right in the plums," Jane answered absently. Lisbon and Van Pelt looked at the men like they'd lost their minds. Jane tried to lower a squirming Ben without dropping him. Lisbon stepped over and held her arms out.

"Huh? –Who says that?" Rigsby asked.

"Aussies. Brits maybe," he replied, handing Ben to Lisbon.

"Hey, how's my favorite little man?" Lisbon asked, hugging Ben then letting him slide down to stand on his own feet.

"Aunt Reesa! Guess what, I got–" Ben said even louder over the hubbub.

Taylor started crying at being ignored in her highchair in the kitchen.

Hands over her ears, Van Pelt raised her voice over the cacophony, "Quiet!" Silence descended except for tv football and Taylor's crying. "Wayne, go check on Taylor. Ben, you may show Aunt Teresa your school project. Quietly! Adults, _pipe down_." Then she looked abashed at ordering peers and former boss around like a drill sergeant.

Everyone grinned. Jane murmured, "Knew you had it in you, Grace. A little bit of nice, a little bit of–" but was interrupted by Rigsby offering to hang up his damp suit jacket. Talking resumed at a less deafening level.

Van Pelt raised her arm for attention. "Everyone, we just moved two days ago so dinner's gonna be take out. Fifteen minutes till delivery. Anyone want the two-bit tour while we wait?"

The group trooped through the house dodging boxes everywhere. The house was one of Sacramento's graceful turn-of-the century creations. It had been thoroughly renovated with all the modern conveniences without losing its charm and authenticity. Rigsby explained that proximity to the CIB and the spacious lot were what finally sold them on it.

"I thought these cost an arm and a leg after being rehabbed," commented Lisbon, impressed.

"This was an estate sale, heirs eager to sell. A-n-d, no matter how pricy Sacramento is, Frisco is worse. We got enough for that house to make this affordable."

Jane commented as he ran his fingers over the intricately carved, silk-smooth fireplace mantle, "Glad that worked out. Can't have been easy after hiding out in Iowa for months."

Rigsby grimaced. "Yeah, killed our business." Cheering, "But things are working out what with Hightower offering us both great jobs."

Cho commented, "Hightower got scared. One team leader was Blake and she was about to hire another."

Lisbon asked, "You're comfortable working for her?"

Rigsby responded thoughtfully, "She's changed. Still tough, still politically savvy, but she's mellowed." He ignored Lisbon's murmured, "Being stalked by a serial killer can do that to you," and continued. "Less ball-busting – sorry – for its own sake. Allows co-worker relationships so long as it doesn't affect work. Instituting modern methods, equipment. She's just – different." With a deep breath, "And maybe we are, too," he said exchanging a small smile with his wife. "Yeah, we think it'll be fine."

They eventually made their way back to the kitchen. Being closest to the door, Jane answered and paid the two delivery boys who arrived simultaneously.

"Jane, you don't have to–" started Van Pelt.

"You're hosting. Least I can do." Amused grin, "–Pizza _and_ Thai?"

"After this week I'm too tired to argue. They can have the grease and meat," she said, nodding toward Rigsby and Cho. "I get what I want." She and Rigsby started gathering paper plates, plastic cups, and plastic-ware till Rigsby left to tend a fussing Taylor. Lisbon stepped in to help.

"Like your hair," Van Pelt commented on Lisbon's wavy 3"-long, dark halo. "Austin heat? Or, Jane, or–"

Her former boss laughed, "Disguise when we were fugitives. Jane cut it on our way to Jason Cooper in South Dakota."

"Oh. What's the scoop on Blake?"

"While we eat. Food's getting cold."

They settled down to the makeshift meal. It was the first time they were together since they strong-armed Abbott to free Jane on the day McAllister died.

"So how'd you end up back in the US with the FBI of all places?" Rigsby asked, talking over Taylor whose highchair was between him and Jane. He and Van Pelt knew the basic story, but he wanted to hear it from Jane.

Looking up from playing with Taylor, "Abbott – Wylie, really – found me in Venezuela. Could've wanted me for sheer charm and brilliance," he grinned, "but it was really a Blake move to get Bertram's drive."

Van Pelt, "But Abbott wasn't – isn't Blake himself, right?"

"Right," Jane nodded. "Abbott sent Fischer to sound me out–"

Motioning with his pizza slice, "Cho's boss – former boss?"

"Yeah. Screamed cop a mile away, but it was amusing. Told Abbott my terms, which he said he could live with."

Van Pelt asked, "So what went wrong when you got here?"

"He lied. Or was over-ruled. Then with Abbott out of town working Blake, Fischer was left to her own devices managing my detention."

She frowned, "From what Lisbon said, Fischer was way out of line. –Isolation, drugging, um–"

Jane waved his hand not wanting to get into details. "Yeah, in over her head. Interestingly, Fischer's father was Blake and used her." Van Pelt winced at the thought.

Lisbon picked up the story. "That wasn't the worst. Fischer's dad and his Blake partner were sent to kill Abbott. Almost succeeded. Fischer was shot by the partner."

Van Pelt looked nauseated at the enormity of such a betrayal.

Jane continued, "Fortunately, Abbott survived," he glanced at Rigsby, "thanks to your foiling the follow-up attack. Would have been much harder if a new SA had to step in. Kim Fischer has recovered."

"At least physically," added Lisbon.

"And the father?"

"His partner pretended to be his lawyer. Killed him in lock-up."

"I am _so_ over massive conspiracies," blurted Van Pelt.

Soothingly, "We all are. Blake is over."

Hesitantly, Rigsby offered, "Jane, I didn't want to believe Blake was still out there, still dangerous. I hated getting dragged back into it all, but thanks for taking it on."

"Sure." Jane quickly looked away and tucked into his food. Cho filled in the rest.

"Jane struck a deal with Stiles. Stiles, Cooper and Visualize got immunity in return for a list of Blake leaders." Anticipating their question, "Blake leaders infiltrated Visualize to replace the Blake members the FBI rounded up. Why they got into dealing drugs and weapons with terrorists."

Rigsby whistled. "One helluva mess. So Stiles gets rid of Blake _and_ a clean slate."

"Yes."

Van Pelt frowned, "_How_ did Blake get into Visualize? I mean, I know Red John – sorry, Jane –" Jane waved it off. "I know there was some connection between Stiles and him, but–"

Cho again, "Haffner."

In unison, "–Haffner?" "–Ray Haf–"

"Yeah. Stiles protégé. McAllister turned him. Haffner framed Cooper for embezzlement and took over when Stiles was sick. Turned up dead last week."

Rigsby, "Stiles?"

Lisbon answered, "Probably. Jane thinks he'll never be nailed for it."

Van Pelt, "Is the FBI going after Stiles for Haffner?"

"Don't know, don't care. We're out of it."

Rigsby slowly, seriously asked, "You're certain Blake is over?" He looked from Cho to Jane to Lisbon.

The three nodded. Jane said, "There may be a few still out there. But last week's operation destroyed the network. We – all of us – are safe. Free."

A thought struck Van Pelt, "You said Blake was behind your return. –Did you get whoever engineered that?"

Jane rubbed his chin. "In the works." At her frown, "Stiles still owes me that name."

Rigsby, skeptical. "Now that he's got immunity, think he'll deliver?"

Jane nodded. "Let's just say we respect each other."

The only sound was eating for several moments.

Van Pelt spoke first. "Cho, did you see your mom? She's recovering really well."

"Yeah. Before I got here."

"Doctors say she can be discharged Tuesday. There'll be follow-up physical therapy, but it's really encouraging." Cho looked anything but encouraged. Van Pelt put her hand on his shoulder. "Cho, really. Wayne and I will do whatever's needed. Wayne rearranged her furniture so it'll be safe for a walker and when she's using a cane. I've got a home health aid scheduled for the day till we're off work. And your cousin Min will cover the evenings."

Jane piped up, "Min? Never heard that name before."

"Min-Ji, from Korea. On my mom's side."

Van Pelt added, "I met her visiting your mom. She's a junior at Berkeley and only 18. Math major. Quiet, prickly, and really sharp. She only warmed up when we started talking computers."

Lisbon reacted, "Sounds smart and ambitious."

"My mom helped her come to school here. My uncle's old fashioned. Rigid. Only let her come when Mom intervened."

Rigsby said quietly, "Cho, we got this. You don't have to leave the FBI."

Cho sipped his beer before responding. "Hightower thinks Abbott will help me get a transfer. If nothing happens in a month, she'll hire me."

"Your mom should be almost back to normal by then. Are you sure–"

"-Yes. My father's dead. I'm the oldest in my generation. I need to be around more, not just for my mom but the whole family."

Rigsby shrugged. "Hope it works out with the FBI." Then he frowned, "Hey, what gives? The FBI loses control of a prisoner who beats up Jane?" With an edge, "You guys are s'posed to be the cream of the crop!"

Lisbon commented acidly, "Abbott wants to get every last Blake member. Driving his team too hard invites stupid mistakes."

Cho added, "He backed off after Jane was attacked."

Van Pelt shook her head. Scathingly, "Do tell. The _perfect_ G-man makes mistakes. How 'bout that."

"Abbott's okay. Not as good as Lisbon."

Lisbon coughed when her drink went down the wrong way. Jane gently patted her back. "Accept the compliment. You know Cho's given to flattery." Rigsby snorted and Van Pelt chuckled. Only the twinkle in his eye betrayed Cho's teasing but honest intent.

Van Pelt changed the subject, "What about you guys? Cho says you're planning to get out of the FBI deal?"

Lisbon looked to Jane to answer. "Now that we finished Blake, I'm ... less enthusiastic about Austin and the FBI. The FBI isn't everything Teresa hoped it would be. So, y-e-a-h, I have some ideas for changing things up."

Curious, Van Pelt turned to Lisbon, "Really? Don't like the FBI?"

She sighed. Grudgingly, "Abbott's o-kay. I don't like the case work as much as I thought I would. It's–" she frowned, searching for the right way to explain, "–it's impersonal. Big cases, big operations. But not as much satisfaction in getting justice for individuals, I guess."

Rigsby. "If not the FBI, then what?"

"Don't know. Jane and I are still working on that. All we know–" she glanced at her partner, "is that we want to get back to California. Sacramento, preferably."

Van Pelt, enthusiastically, "That's be great. –But not the CIB? You know Hightower'd hire you in a heartbeat."

Lisbon shook her head. "Don't think so. Still feel a little burned after the whole CBI mess. Maybe do something else for awhile."

Finished eating, Cho and Rigsby resumed watching the football game. Lisbon didn't follow those teams and lingered in the kitchen talking to Van Pelt. Van Pelt eagerly discussed the CIB position she'd start in a week. She would have a hand not only in investigating computer crimes, but in shaping the IT resources for the whole CIB. Lisbon was able to share her experience and perspectives on leadership, something possible now that the boss-subordinate barrier was gone. Lisbon was gratified to hear that Rigsby was equally enthusiastic and confident. Always a good, solid agent, Rigsby was outstanding on arson cases.

In turn, Lisbon shared her reactions to the FBI, working for Cho, and her evolving relationship with Jane. She had little to share about her future because so much was up in the air. She was determined to be flexible so she and Jane could forge a path that worked for both.

With the night waning, it was time to wrap up the visit. Lisbon found her partner reading to Ben after having helped Rigsby put Taylor down for the night. The adults crowded around the door. Lisbon and Jane took their leave first.

Cho tarried. He pinned down some details with the Rigsby's about costs for his mom's care before being ready to go.

"Hey, Cho. It'll be great having you in the city again. Just hope you can stay with the FBI."

"Yeah. Me too."

Van Pelt added happily, "If Lisbon and Jane relocate we'll all be around. I miss it, you know?"

Cho nodded again.

Rigsby scratched his head. "It was great seeing them. Jane's changed. –Both have, actually."

Cho just looked at him. "Lisbon has Jane back."

"And Jane? It's more than Lisbon, isn't it?"

"Now Jane has a life instead of a serial killer." Cho put on his jacket. "Let you know soon as I know anything."

"We'll keep in touch," Van Pelt promised.

"We've got it on this end," assured Rigsby.

**Hotel, Sacramento**

It was late when they got back. Not wanting to get up early before work, Lisbon showered while Jane turned in. Finished blow-drying her hair, she flipped off the light and joined him between sinfully smooth sheets. Luxury was never an option before, but she thought she could get used to the slightly plusher life Jane seemed to enjoy. She softly snorted to herself. Jane had spent a decade living out of a spartan motel room and a cold, dusty attic. She wouldn't begrudge him any creature comforts that they could afford. (She doubted money would be a problem.)

"Teresa?" Jane's silken voice somehow perfectly suited the black velvet, rain-soaked night.

"Hm?" she responded as she shifted into a comfortable position against his chest.

"You asked about family?"

"Family?"

"Kids. Our kids."

Her pulse quickened in suspense. "Yeah?"

"You. Home. Family. There's nothing I want more."

She turned under his arm to face him. "Sure?"

"Very," he answered, adding a kiss. "And you?"

She swallowed a lump, "I'd love to have kids with you."

He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, all tension gone. After another kiss, "We'll have to get busy then," he murmured and drifted off.


	36. Chapter 36 - Austin Again

**Chapter 36: Austin Again**

**Apartment, Austin, Monday**

Jane stretched languidly, glad to wake in his own bed. He snorted. _Own corporate apartment bed – another glorified motel!_ He'd never voice that thought to Lisbon._ Better than the attic,_ he allowed grudgingly_._

It had taken another full week plus weekend to wrap up the interrogations in California. Most of the team got back Sunday night. Some agents would travel to interrogate Blake suspects in other states but he and Lisbon were done. Most of the Austin contingent would be busy with paperwork to wrap up the exceedingly long, large, complicated case. Aside from new cases, Jane would have time to pursue his own interests for awhile.

Lisbon clumsily swiped her hand over her head and burrowed farther into the pillow at the sudden chill as Jane delicately licked the rim of her ear and blew on it. A half-tickling, half-sensual feather touch ghosted down her spine. She rolled over to shield her back from the sensation. "Wha–" she mumbled, barely surfacing from sleep, to be met with a teasing kiss. She was kissing back before her mind caught up. "Dambbt–" she tried to speak around the onslaught of kisses.

Jane teased, and stroked, and kissed her into a passionate waking. She eagerly joined in long before she could muster a desire to resist. _Damned annoying man!_ was her last coherent thought before merciless seduction overwhelmed thinking. They soon lay boneless and sated in a post-coital embrace.

"Hate when you do that, Jane," she muttered with singular lack of conviction.

"Uh-huh," he whispered, tickling her ear with his breath.

She lifted her head and glared. "I'm trying to be angry here! Cut it out."

He smirked, "Told you we needed to get busy."

"Not at the crack of dawn, dammit."

"You're irresistible, dear." He smoothly rolled out of bed to his feet. "Need to catch Abbott before the teeming masses arrive."

"Ugh, don't say that. Makes us sound like those disgusting flesh-eating worms."

"Nah, you're way prettier." He pecked her cheek. "I'll make coffee and croissants."

Lisbon grunted, partly mollified. _Why the hell did I hook up with a crazy insomniac? –Former insomniac, but still! _she mused fuzzily. Being sweetly satisfied thwarted every effort to stay mad. She dozed till Jane was dressed and out. The siren scent of coffee soon drew her to the kitchen. She poured a mug of freshly brewed coffee and enjoyed the sunrise from the couch. Fortified by caffeine, she showered and toweled off, tentatively deciding she'd live despite the early morning. She was drying and brushing her hair, then stopped and stared. Frowning, she wrapped the offending strand around a finger and pulled. "Ow!" and it was gone.

The ungodly hour left her with spare time even after dressing. Lisbon padded around, straightening and unloading her away bag after the two-week trip. Having forced the team to fly out without advance notice in the interests of secrecy, the FBI sprang for a couple of extra outfits in Sacramento. Some agents had extra clothes sent from home but, of course, she and Jane didn't have that option. Done, she looked around and sighed. It was nice enough, but still impersonal, still ... impermanent. Now that the Blake danger was over, Cho would move out –_ hell, be moving to Sacramento! _– and she could have her apartment back. It was hers in the sense of a name on a lease, but her possessions remained in storage. It was now the better part of a year since she'd started with the FBI. After the moving allowances had run out, they stayed in the corporate apartments because of the Blake danger and chaos. Now moving made no sense when the plan was for Jane to get out from servitude to the FBI and return to California.

She bit her lower lip. _Blake's over. We want to get back to Sacramento. How long will Jane's plan take?_ A sudden wave of melancholy surprised her. Everything was going the way she'd hoped, so ... why? Jane had listed his Malibu house for sale. She'd wished for that ever since she had seen the desolate bedroom he used to punish and goad himself for a decade. _It's __good__ he's cutting ties to the tragedy and depression, _she assured herself_. _She instantly buried the thought that selling it meant one fewer tie to everything else as well.

**FBI, Austin**

Lisbon strolled in a bit early, courtesy of Jane's lustful wake-up call. The consultant was just leaving Abbott's office. They met in the break room.

"What'd you want with Abbott?"

"Cho's transfer. Closed case celebration."

Frowning, "Stop meddling, Jane," ignoring the latter.

He shrugged. "Not even first in line. Madeline's already bent Abbott's ear. And I quote: 'I'd snap him up in a minute.'"

"Really?"

He nodded. "It'll be fine. Cho's Blake plan guaranteed Abbott a promotion. He may be a stiff-necked–"

"Who?" asked Cho as he stepped into the room.

Jane turned with an easy smile. "The man who's going to arrange your transfer."

Cho leveled a hard stare. "Keep out of my business."

Jane replied jovially, "No choice. You'll be in Sacramento."

Cho frowned and left with his coffee.

Most agents on their floor focused on Blake paperwork for the day. Jane alternated between napping and cheerfully bouncing around, much to the annoyance of Lisbon, Cho and Wylie. Mid-morning the Blake team received an e-mail -

"Good work on wrapping up Blake. – M. Schultz, Regional Director"

– acknowledging nearly three years of work dismantling the nationwide, corrupt law-enforcement conspiracy. Weary glances rippled among agents still doggedly plowing through the dregs of the case.

After lunch, Lisbon was surprised as a steady stream of agents nodded, smiled or made genial comments to Jane as they passed by his couch. Lisbon turned to ask only to find he had stepped away. She caught Cho's eye and spread her hands in silent query.

"Read your e-mail."

"Huh?"

"Wylie helped him."

When she looked Jane's e-mail said,

"Help celebrate dismantling the Blake Association and restoring honest law-enforcement! Join me at Jordan's restaurant this Friday at 6 p.m. Buffet and refreshments. Families and guests welcome. My treat. –Patrick Jane"

She cornered him mid-way through his tea ritual.

"Jane, what are you up to?"

"Hmm?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "Oh, _that._ Don't you think destroying a nationwide conspiracy deserves a celebration?"

"To repeat, what are you plotting?"

He looked askance. "So suspicious." He tossed the spent teabag. "Notice any difference between my congratulations and Schultz's?"

"Hers was so grudging it was an insult."

"Yep."

"But there are 17 on Blake. With friends and family, you could be pushing 50. Isn't that gonna be a little pricy?"

He shrugged. "What's my freedom worth?" He wouldn't say more.

She refilled her mug. _So it's connected to that._ She left a little more unsettled than before.

**Cho's Team, FBI, Austin**

Just after end of the workday Cho called quietly, "Wylie, Lisbon, Jane. Fishbowl."

The four trooped in and sat around the conference table.

Cho waited till their eyes were on him. "I'm going on leave, effective immediately."

Lisbon and Jane exchanged glances. They were expecting it, but were surprised at how fast things were moving.

Wylie perked up. "Great timing – just after wrapping Blake. Vacation? Anywhere interesting?"

"Sacramento. Family matters. I-"

Wylie's enthusiasm dimmed. "Uh, family's always good. When will you be back?"

Cho's lips tightened a fraction. "Won't. I'm taking two weeks' vacation. Then permanently transferring to the Sacramento FBI office."

Wylie's face clouded in obvious disappointment till he regained his composure. "Oh," he swallowed. "Promotion or something?"

Now slightly frowning, "Vacant agent slot initially. Abbott's recommending me for team leader as soon as a position opens anywhere in the Sacramento region."

Lisbon broke the uncomfortable silence. "Cho, congratulations on getting what you need, on staying in the FBI. You're leaving immediately? Will you be back at all?"

"I fly out tomorrow morning. I'll be back a day or two this month to oversee the movers." He caught the gaze of each for a few seconds and cleared his throat. "It's been a pleasure and honor working with each of you. Lisbon, Jane – appreciate the chance to help finish up Blake. Wylie, you make a tremendous contribution with your IT skills, but remember you have talents beyond IT. I'll stop by next time I'm in town."

Jane smiled widely. After glancing at his two collegues, "If you can spare an hour, we'd like to send you off properly."

Cho looked down, then back up. "I'd like that. Give me ten to pack up my desk."

**Abbott and Pike, FBI, Austin**

"Have a seat," Abbott said as he casually motioned Pike in.

"Yes, sir?"

"You will be temporary SA for the Austin office for the next week. Lena's up for a big promotion in D.C. and you've already covered for me a couple of times. I'm giving you a heads up because I'll be out quite a bit more in the coming month."

Pike sat comfortably without fidgeting. "Sir–"

"-Dennis."

"Dennis, is there any longer term impact?" he asked straightforwardly.

Abbott rumbled quietly. "If Lena gets the position, I hope to relocate within the FBI in D.C. As a senior agent and team leader, you'll have a shot at my job, though," Abbott hastened to clarify, "Regional Director Schultz will make that decision, of course."

"Experience subbing for you can't hurt, right?"

"Right. –If you perform well, that naturally would be a plus." Pike straightened in the chair, assuming the meeting was drawing to a close till Abbott continued. "Marcus, the Blake project is pretty much wrapped up except for final reports which should be done this week. You're also going to be short-handed. Team leader Kimball Cho is relocating to Sacramento."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. He won't officially transfer till after two weeks' vacation, but you need a team leader immediately."

"Anyone you have in mind? Maybe someone from Cho's team?"

Abbott exhaled slowly, then shook his head. "All three under Cho are new to the FBI and ... it's complicated." Abbott's eyes flicked to the hall toward Fischer's desk then returned to Pike's face. "No. There isn't anyone I'd recommend on or outside his team, even for a few weeks."

"I know someone in the Phoenix office. Seasoned agent. Wants to relocate. Looking for a step up. Bet he'd sub so long as he'd be considered for team leader when the position opens."

"Who?"

"Richard Tork. –Agent Cho used to be with the CBI, right? And others on his team?"

Abbott nodded.

"Tork was too. Might make things easier if they already know each other."

Abbott tipped his head noncommitally. "Maybe. So long as he's an agent in good standing and Phoenix can spare him. No promises other than he would be considered."

"That'd be great. I'll get on it."

"Marcus, you're welcome to call me if necessary. But I hope you won't need to."

"Understood." Pike rose and shook Abbott's hand, pleased to have the opportunity and exposure.

**Pike, FBI, Austin**

"Rick? Marcus. Got a minute?"

"Yeah. Dead around here. Between cases."

"How'd you like to spend a couple weeks in Austin?"

"Appreciate the thought. Not wild about spending vacation time hanging around _Austin_."

"No, no. Sorry. I'm acting SA for the next few weeks. We're down one team leader. If Phoenix can spare you, was wondering if you'd like to sub."

"Wouldn't mind a break from the drug cartels and illegals. What's the deal?"

"You'll temporarily replace team leader Cho–"

"Kimball Cho?"

"Know him?"

"Yeah, from the CBI ages ago. Good agent. Had no idea he landed in the FBI."

"He's on vacation two weeks then permanently transferring."

"Will Abbott fill the vacancy?"

"Yeah. You'd have a shot at it."

"Definitely interested then. What kinds of cases?"

"Everything not a specialty crime. He has two agents and a consultant. One more agent next budget year."

"What are they working on now?"

"Nothing. Just finished helping another team take down Blake Association leaders." Pike had spent the afternoon getting up to speed on cases in progress or recently finished.

Puzzled, "Why a consultant then?"

"It's a little unusual. One agent is a couple years out of Quantico, IT specialist. The other agent is new to the FBI but she has a lot of experience – Teresa Lisbon. And the consultant is–"

Sharply, "_Patrick Jane_. Isn't it?"

Pike's "Yeah, why?" He thought heard, "Hadda be a catch" but wasn't sure.

Tork exhaled loudly, "Jeez, shouldda known."

"Rick, spit it out. You're still interested, right?"

After a long moment, Tork countered, "I'll catch the next flight and tell you over dinner – your nickel. It's one helluva story."

"Okay. Guess I should know if it's that big a deal." _Definitely want to know what I'm inheriting if I replace Abbott._

**Restaurant, Austin**

Pike leaned back in his chair, sipping coffee after dinner. "So, Rick, what's this big story about the CBI you couldn't tell my by phone? I admit, there's lots of scuttlebutt floating around about Cho's team – mainly Jane. ... And Lisbon," he amended as an afterthought.

Tork grinned, enjoying the opportunity to share his amazement and irritation at long past gossip. "Short version or long?"

"Long. If I'm responsible for them, I want to know as much as possible. –Sides, that's one mighty fine woman."

Tork shrugged. "If you stay on her good side. She's got a temper and a mouth on her."

Pike grunted, uncomfortable agreeing or disagreeing.

Tork took a deep breath and began. "Minelli – the CBI director before Bertram – recruited Lisbon from SFPD. Lot of us had our doubts. Young. Female. But she was actually a top notch, straight-arrow agent. She had a young team. Cho, guy named Rigsby. And an old-school has-been Hannigan. Was doing good till Minelli saddled her with the nut job con man, Jane."

Pike frowned. "Just out of the blue?"

"Patrick Jane was a TV 'psychic.' –Fraud and con man, of course. He was stupid enough to diss a serial killer on air. Red John murdered his wife and kid that same night."

"Damn. That's about as bad as it gets."

"As I heard it, Jane showed up a year later wanting to know about the Red John case. Wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Tricked his way into shadowing Lisbon's team on a different case. He helped ID the murderer and a corrupt judge. So – get this – Minelli decides to hire this con man to help with cases."

"Permanently?"

"Yup. He saddles Lisbon with Jane and she spends the next decade cleaning up his crap. Insulting politicians, fouling evidence, cutting legal corners. –She got to fix it."

"Why the hell did Minelli keep him?"

Tork's eyebrows rose halfway to his hairline. "Closed cases. He's dishonest, tricky, manipulative. And smart as hell. Useful. A couple years in, a crooked sheriff grabbed a gun after arrest and would'a shot Lisbon. Jane blew him away with a shotgun. So then she owed him too."

"Raw deal for her."

"Yeah it was. And it gets worse."

"Sure you're not pulling my leg, Tork? This is already hard to believe."

"I swear every word it true. And I haven't even gotten to the juicy stuff. Jane destroyed Lisbon's career. She might'a had a shot at Minelli's job when he retired, but she looked bad because of Jane."

"And?"

"Minelli takes Lisbon's team off the Red John case. Getting too close, fresh perspective, yada, yada. He gave it to another team. A Red John follower killed all four of 'em in the CBI so Jane would get 'his' case back. Four dead on his watch, his decision so Minelli retired a couple days later."

"Christ! What kind of security did the CBI have?"

"The killer was a CBI employee. The Red John serial killer was unbelievably twisted and powerful. Had a cat and mouse thing going with Jane and wanted him back." Tork relaxed and sipped his coffee, smirking at Pike's astonishment. "Want any more?"

"There's more?"

"Oh, yeah. 'Bout a year later Jane shoots a guy point blank in a mall, thinking he's Red John. Five-hundred witnesses. The guy _wasn't_ Red John but had a girl chained in the basement repeatedly raping her. Jane talked the jury into letting him off."

"Wait, wait a minute. Air-tight evidence he killed a man and _he gets off?!_"

"Representing himself too."

Pike gulped more coffee, beginning to worry at what he just might inherit ... if he did get Abbott's job permanently.

Tork continued. "Bertram, Minelli's replacement, needed someone to take the fall for that whole mess. Set Lisbon up to get canned. Broke up her team. My boss got Cho and Jane." Tork was careful not to mention his boss's name. Rumor had it Haffner had been part of Blake before turning up dead a few weeks ago and Tork sure as hell wasn't going to open that can of worms.

"How'd that go?"

"Disaster. Jane screwed us all. Tricked my boss into embarrassing Bertram then blackmailed Bertram into hiring Lisbon back."

Voice serious and sharp, "Blackmail's a crime. Jane wasn't brought up on charges?"

Tork grimaced, "Jane's too shifty for that. No blatant quid pro quo. But Bertram brought Lisbon and her team back. My boss's career never recovered. He eventually left to start his own PI agency. Jane _did_ get himself fired after burying a suspect to extract a confession," Pike's mouth fell open, "and dissing the special agent over Lisbon in public. There was something about him being in Vegas involved in drugs, fraud and stuff. Lisbon's team made another attempt at getting Red John. The special agent was killed by us, by the FBI, but the whole mess was hushed up."

They sat quietly with Pike trying to get his head around the lunatic he was supposedly going to manage and Tork reflecting on the near-unbelievable facts he _knew_ were true.

Tork finally broke the silence. "Once I was in the FBI I and kinda lost track. –How the hell did Cho, Lisbon and the nut case end up here?"

Pike looked at him. "Art Theft doesn't have a lot of contact with the general crimes teams. Tell you what I've heard, though. –Lisbon's team exposed the Blake Association, then got caught up in the fallout of the corrupt California law enforcement. –You know Abbott's headed the effort to clean up that mess, right?" Tork nodded. "Her team also ID'd Red John. He was found dead in a park near a Sacramento cemetery along with a bunch of Blake members. Abbott thought Jane killed him–"

"Who?"

"Sheriff Thomas McAllister. Proved beyond question he was Red John."

"So why's Jane running around free?"

"Weak circumstantial evidence. Regardless, Patrick Jane fled the country. Abbott tracked him down and the brass forced him to offer Jane a deal. Jane works for the FBI for five years and no charges will be filed. He's got four more to go."

Tork snorted sourly. "Sweet deal. You say the brass was pushing this?"

"Yeah. As I hear it, someone in the AG's office thought Jane would be a great asset for the FBI."

Tork huffed dismissing _that _notion. "Huh. Minelli all over again. What about Cho? And Lisbon?"

"Cho applied and was accepted after the CBI was disbanded. Lisbon is here because Jane demanded her as part of the deal."

"Why the fuck would she sign up with Jane _again_?"

"Supposedly she was a police chief in some hick town in a rural county. Maybe getting into the FBI was enough for her to take the chance. Anyhow, Jane's pulled some stunts since he's been here, but nothing as outrageous as your tales. In fact, a lot of the agents like the guy."

Tork pressed his lips together. "Sure. Entertaining. Till he screws you over. Just a matter of time."

Pike sat back and looked straight at Tork. "Knowing all this ... crap, why do you want any part of it?"

Equally blunt, "I wanna move up. I can put up with Jane a couple weeks since I'll be in charge. If I get the job permanently, I wanna dump Jane anyhow, anyway I could, the sooner the better."

Pike gazed back soberly. "Can't say I blame you, Rick, after the CBI experiences. Let's make sure the next few weeks go well and maybe we both move up."

Tork smiled. "Hey. Can't think of a nicer guy, better agent. You deserve your shot, Marcus." The server dropped off the check and Tork handed it to Pike. "See you tomorrow, ready to dig in. Thanks again for thinking of me." They shook and left.


	37. Chapter 37 - Changes

**A/N: Apologies for the long delay. I plan to post new chapters weekly. **

* * *

**Chapter 37: Changes**

A/N: Passages marked with asterisks (*) are quotations from The Mentalist "White Lines" episode.

Episode details were modified to fit this story, apologies to The Mentalist writers.

**Oakland**

"Thank you, Kimball. I'll fix dinner after a nap," his mother said in Korean as she disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door softly.

Cho paused in the hallway at loose ends. His mother needed to rest after each grueling physical therapy session. She was doing well in large part courtesy of an iron will cloaked by her soft-spoken, reticent demeanor. Despite repeated offers, she refused to let him do any chore she could manage.

Living at home – _Home!_ – again after nearly twenty years was just ... strange. Sure he'd visited. There'd been furloughs while in the military, holiday gatherings when he was in the SFPD and later CBI. Once his father passed he spent many vacation days maintaining his mother's house and overseeing tradesmen for big or specialized jobs. Since he joined the FBI he'd only been back for one week in the past two years. Till now. Till his mother's stroke. True to form, among his mother's first questions after he said he was relocating back to the Sacramento/San Francisco area was what that meant for his career. He was grateful he could say he was still in the FBI, that he didn't add to her worries while she was recovering.

Cho was too restless to read the book he'd started on the flight from Austin. He grabbed a jacket and headed outside, dead-bolting the door behind him. Cho looked over her house. It was old but in good repair, neatly fenced to protect the yard and deter vandalism (or worse). He walked briskly, taking a spiral path to efficiently check out the neighborhood.

His mother's house was hardly representative. The area had been shabby when he was growing up and had only gotten older, tougher, and more worn. The Korean immigrants and their families were now settled and established. When grown, the first generation Americans moved to nicer areas if they could, leaving the elderly, gang members, and others unable to get a foothold on mainstream American life and prosperity.

In several places fresh paint gleamed on walls bordering sidewalks. The blank expanses were marred where thick chips flaked off surfaces with uncountable coats covering gang graffiti. Cho's expert eyes scrutinized insignia that hadn't yet been painted over. Some symbols he recognized from his youth; others he didn't know. He nodded minutely. New immigrants had pushed into the old neighborhood, first from Southeast Asia and, increasingly, from east Africa. The newcomers now faced the hard work of making a place for themselves in a strange and often hostile land. Those with education and good English skills located in wealthier areas, leaving the poorest, least educated, and most desperate in areas like this. The cycle started anew when teens – boys and girls – grouped themselves by race or mother country for protection, forming ersatz families to fill the voids left by dysfunctional biologic families.

And that brought him full circle. His walk reinforced his decision. _Need to reconnect with my cousins and their kids... Anyone still here faces the temptations I did. _He'd help ensure they had better options and nudge them to choose smarter paths than the one he'd stupidly taken. A ghost of a frown crossed his face. _And what about Min-Je? Just getting her education at Berkeley? Or is more going on there too? _ Elusive and touchy, his cousin from Korea only visited his mom when he was out.

His aunt was planning a celebration for the completion of his mother's therapy in a few weeks. That would be his opportunity to start getting a handle on how his extended family was faring, before getting caught up in FBI work for the Sacramento region after his vacation ended.

It was nearing dinnertime when Cho returned. Without a word, he quietly helped his mother with tasks that were hard to do with only one 'good' hand.

**Austin**

Lisbon followed Jane out. She had reclaimed her apartment now that Blake was over and Cho had left. Still, the connecting door remained and the two apartments were essentially their combined home. _Temporary home_, she amended, itching to get on with it. At the moment, "it" meant getting back to the routine of regular FBI cases. In the longer term it meant following Jane's plan, whatever it was, to shuck his FBI trammels. Her confidence in Jane had never translated into comfort with winging it. His notion of a plan was her notion of hare-brained, spur-of-the-moment desperation, except for his annoying tendency to succeed.

The morning sun brilliantly backlit a corona of blond curls as she followed him to the SUV. She enjoyed the sight. Jane changed after their visit to Malibu and the cemetery. Relief from fulfilling his vow of vengeance and – two years delayed – tying up the loose ends left him relaxed, happy and looking years younger. His iconic smile of their early years was back. Now it was real. _This_ was the Jane she'd imagined and prayed for all along. She hurried down.

Exiting the FBI elevator on their floor, Jane split off to the break room for his indispensable tea. Lisbon dropped her briefcase on her desk. Her eyes automatically searched for Cho before knowledge he'd relocated kicked in. She guiltily looked away only to notice Wylie's eager visage. Wylie caught her gaze and smiled, brightening further as Jane arrived with cups of tea and coffee. Abbott's e-mail was the first thing she saw upon booting up her computer.

"Abbott's out. Pike's subbing again," she mentioned as Jane set down her coffee.

"Our Blake paperwork is done–" Lisbon snorted at Jane's "our," "–so what do we do?" He turned to Wylie, "Any new cases?" he asked hopefully.

"Not that I–"

"Lisbon, Wylie, Jane," Pike interrupted as he walked in, "you're up. Five DEA agents murdered in Corpus Christi."

"Five," Lisbon echoed faintly, equal parts appalled and sad.

Pike stepped aside, revealing the man behind him. "Agent Tork is acting unit leader till we get a replacement for Cho."

Refocusing on the present Lisbon immediately extended her hand. "Tork, nice seeing you again. Didn't know you joined the FBI."

Tork took her hand. "Lisbon. Likewise."

Jane smiled broadly and nodded. "Tork. We meet again."

"Yeah." Tork was barely civil.

"Wylie, you anchor the case here." Pike turned to the others, missing the young agent's crestfallen expression. "The rest of you – on the road in five minutes. Oh, Agent Fischer will be working with us since you're down one agent." Fischer was recently cleared for active duty after months of recovery and therapy, both physical and psychological.

Lisbon bristled and took a breath to object when Jane put his hand on her arm and shook his head minutely. He motioned with his chin for them to follow Pike out. They trailed Pike, Tork and Fischer to the parking lot after everyone fetched their away bags. The group split up into two SUV's – Pike, Tork, and Fischer in one; Lisbon and Jane in the other. Fischer carefully avoided looking either Jane or Lisbon in the eye.

Making a decision, Lisbon stepped in front of Fischer and forced her to pause. Quietly, "Glad you've recovered, Fischer. Welcome back."

Fischer blinked. "Uh, thanks," she replied awkwardly as Lisbon stepped away to the other SUV.

**En Route, Austin to Corpus Christi**

It was three hours of mostly flat, uninteresting interstate driving to Corpus Christi. Jane immediately arranged himself in a comfortable slouch against the door to nap. Lisbon shook her head. His insomnia was largely history yet he could sleep anywhere, anytime.

Without opening his eyes, "Anything to avoid boredom," he commented as though she'd spoken.

"You sayin' I'm boring?"

"Never. But since you insist on driving, _you_ get to pay attention for three tedious hours."

Once she merged with interstate traffic, she asked, "Jane, your contract says you don't have to work with Fischer. After the detention abuse, why–"

"–Let it go. Her father was worse than mine," he flatly dismissed the issue.

Lisbon's eyebrows rose. Jane's placid expression revealed nothing. _S-o-o-o, her father's betrayal now makes her what – innocent victim? Huh._ She shrugged, more than happy to set aside any lingering hostility. _Interesting that Fischer's bastard father triggers Jane's sympathy_.

When she next looked Jane was asleep. A hundred miles passed before he stirred.

He yawned and stretched. "If you're going to think that loud, we may as well talk."

"I'm not–" She stopped and took a breath, "Care to share the plan?"

"Guess we'll find out who murdered the DEA–" She flicked him with her fingers. "Ow! _Words_, Lisbon. No violence necessary." He straightened and sipped from his bottle of now-tepid water. Idly watching the passing landscape, "Long con, not a precision operation." He yawned again. "I'm looking for opportunities to be useful-but-annoying to our overlords. After Sacramento, Marion Schultz won't mind losing me. And Tork is a gift."

"He's just subbing," she objected.

"He wants Cho's job permanently."

Lisbon's eyebrows furrowed at that thought.

Jane continued, "Pike's buddy. If Pike gets promoted, Tork will get it."

"Think Pike will get the SA position?"

Diffidently, "Either he does or he doesn't. If it's someone else, I'll work on him – or her. _That_, my dear, is why I can't give you a nice, tidy timetable."

"Pfft," she reacted to the teasing.

"Patience, woman. We'll have fun meanwhile." He grinned. "Tork already hates my guts. Little man, long memory. Pike ... Pike I have to work on."

"What about Abbott?"

Jane shook his head. "Haven't discovered the deep dark secret I need to fix. But I will. Things must be heating up on Lena Abbott's promotion. One way or another it will come to head."

"So, we just wait?"

Lisbon resolutely focused on the road while he scrutinized her. Softly, "Why's that eating you?"

She protested. "It isn't." After a moment, "Not much. We want to get back to California but can't."

"Hey." He laced fingers with her right hand resting on the console. "You're still fighting crime," and lightly mocked, "_making a difference_." He squeezed gently. "Won't take forever so let's enjoy the game. Together. –That's something."

She smiled. "That's a lot."

**DEA Office, Corpus Christi**

The FBI group was met at the Corpus Christi DEA office by agents Cifuentes and Higgins. The two men were alive by virtue of being out of the office when the attack occurred. A few deliberately casual questions by Pike established that each agent had a solid alibi, ruling them out as suspects. One had been at a stakeout; the other, at home on his regular day off.

The bland, generic office space was soaked with the blood of five, bullet-riddled corpses. Despite the forensic team's impatience, the murder scene hadn't been disturbed in anticipation of the FBI's arrival.

The murdered DEA agents didn't know what hit them. Bullet casings showed at least three shooters were involved. Two hidden security cameras were destroyed – dashing hopes of a recording of the attack - which suggested inside knowledge. Fortunately, a mirror oddly placed high on the wall piqued Jane's curiosity. Jane ignored Tork's barb about admiring himself and motioned Fischer over to check it out with her latex-gloved hands. The third camera was undisturbed behind the mirror, yielding a desperately needed surveillance recording.

The case was both suspiciously easy and frustratingly hard. Wylie used facial recognition software and immediately ID'd the three shooters on the recording. The FBI contingent met with Cifuentes and Higgins in a conference room a few hours later to share evidence, knowledge and suspicions.

Pike opened. "We ID'd the shooters. Three low-level street thugs with long sheets in southern Texas." He passed around the photos and information Wylie had sent. "Know them?"

The senior DEA agent Cifuentes glanced at his partner then replied for both. "Heard of the first two, don't know the other. Not connected to the drug trade so far as we know."

"Okay. File addresses are likely useless so we put out a BOLO. We'll determine the connection when they're brought in for questioni–"

"–I _know_ who did this. I know it!"* interrupted Higgins.

Cifuentes glanced sharply at him then smoothly explained, "What Agent Higgins means is the DEA has strong reasons to believe a Corpus Christi narcotics organization is behind the murders – the Gulf Coast Ring."*

"Why would they want to do this?"* Fischer asked.

"Retaliation. Last month, we shot ... and killed one of their lieutenants.* Righteous shoot." he explained. "We've been hearing they want payback. ... We first caught wind of the ring two years ago. They're disciplined, they're organized, and highly secretive. The bust ... was the first dent we made in their operations. But they still control virtually all drug flow into Corpus Christi."*

"Who runs the Gulf Coast Ring?"* asked Tork.

"We don't know,"* answered Higgins, "But we do have a profile."*

Cifuentes continued, "We think this Mr. X is an intelligent and disciplined businessman, most likely using a legitimate front as cover."*

"Hiding in plain sight,"* mused Lisbon.

Higgins nodded. "That's right. Look, most of these guys – they _want_ you to know who they are. It drives them. But this one – it's like he doesn't have an ego."*

Jane spoke, tapping his lip with an index finger, "Well, that's odd, isn't it?"*

"What's that?"*

He frowned in puzzlement. "Well, you said that Mr. X is disciplined. Uh, I would think that shooting five DEA agents is anything _but_ disciplined."*

Pike frowned and intervened to get the discussion back on the important question of suspects. "Who do you have in mind?"*

Cifuentes and Higgins went through the most promising suspects: Hector Ruiz, a real estate developer with dealings throughout Texas; Francisco Perez a.k.a. Paco, a Colombian national tied to a drug cartel; and Michael Ellis, the shady head of a private equity financial group with international connections. A photo of a handsome man and woman remained on the table when the other files were passed around.

Jane asked, "Um, wh - who's this?"* Lisbon glanced at him curiously.

Cifuentes gave an off-handed reply. They'd brought the photo only because the man's death had triggered the retaliation. "Richie Vargas. He's the ring member who got killed in the bust."*

"Yeah, no, _the woman_,"* Jane clarified, ignoring Pike's annoyed glance.

"Oh. It's Krystal Markham, Vargas' girlfriend."*

"Know where we can find her?"*

Pike started to interrupt but Cifuentes answered anyhow with a shrug. "We've questioned her in the past. ... She wasn't much help.* Here's an address." Cifuentes jotted it down. "See for yourself."

The meeting broke up soon after. Pike thanked Cifuentes and Higgins and asked them to continue sharing their knowledge as the investigation proceeded.

After the DEA agents left Lisbon began, "Agent Pike–"

"'Pike.' Or 'Marcus'–"

"–Jane and I would like to check out Krystal Markham. Address isn't far."

Pike frowned then said, "I want to hold off tackling the suspects till that BOLO turns something up. Go ahead but I may have to pull you back."

Fischer spoke up, "Mind if I go with?" glancing uncertainly between Lisbon and Jane.

Lisbon nodded encouragingly. Jane gave a slight smile. Pike approved and waved them out. The three disappeared, leaving Pike and Tork in the conference room. Pike and Tork started rereading the files.

"Sure as hell isn't a lot to go on," Tork complained, tossing the file back in disgust. "Even if it is one of these three, _which_ one?"

"We should get something out of the shooters. Trace back who hired them, even if there were intermediaries." Pike pushed the files away, realizing answers would require more information. Pike frowned as he sipped his coffee. "What's with Jane? He _so_ interested in the ladies that he gets sidetracked on a case?" Every man around the table was struck by the beauty of the young woman in the photo. Jane was the only one to say anything about her.

Tork shrugged. "Wasn't known as a player, but he sure comes across like one, doesn't he?" thinking of Jane's immaculate three piece suit, looks, and manner. Tork had the nasty suspicion that his entire wardrobe cost less than one of Jane's suits.

"Thought you said he closed cases?" Pike countered mildly.

"Lisbon's _unit_ had a great rep, but who knows who did what."

Pike tilted his head. "I can believe _she's_ good." Turning back to the case, "–No matter. Let's hope that BOLO produces something fast."

Lisbon, Fischer and Jane took one of the FBI SUV's. Lisbon drove. Surprisingly, Jane let Fischer ride shotgun while he stared out the back seat window, mulling the case.

Fischer spoke first. "Talking to someone beats sitting around a conference table."

Lisbon nodded. "How I feel. Case files are only as good as the information in them." She checked the rear view mirror. Jane remained preoccupied.

Fischer drummed her fingers on her knee. "The DEA surveillance recording. You notice anything about the audio – background noise?"

Hesitantly, thinking back to the tape, "Just a low rumble, like a car idling."

Fischer smiled the first time that day. "It was, wasn't it?!" Excitedly, "We couldn't see the gunmen's car. But if that _is_ engine noise we might get make, model and year for the getaway vehicle."

Lisbon goggled at her. "We can?"

Fischer held up a finger as she placed the call. "Hold that thought," After a moment, "Wylie, Fischer. The background noise in the surveillance video. It might be engine noise from the getaway car. Can you clean it up and ID it for us? ... Call when you have something."

Amazed, "He can?"

Fischer looked more alive than she had since the shooting. Emphatically, "He can." She purred with a note of pride, "This is the FBI, Lisbon. –Every engine has a unique audio signature and we just might get a match."

"Wow."

Lisbon pulled up at Krystal Markham's address. Markham had just gotten out of her car.

"Krystal Markham?"

"Yes?"

"Agent Fischer with the FBI. Agent Lisbon and Patrick Jane. We'd like to ask a few questions about the recent shooting at the DEA office." Lisbon and Jane flanked her, content to let Fischer take lead while they observed.

"I don't know anything about it."*

"Five DEA agents lost their lives, ma'am."*

"Oh. Yes. I remember now, it was on the news. Terrible. What about it?"*

"Well, some people think the Gulf Coast Ring did it – revenge for the death of your boyfriend Richie Vargas."*

"Richie wasn't my boyfriend."*

"No? What would you call him?"*

"A friend. A good friend. And I'm very sad that he is gone. He – um, he was a sweet guy."

Lisbon had a deja vu moment, thinking of a similar exchange with Abbott about Jane three years ago. She doubted a woman who looked like Markham would be "just a friend" to a drug wholesaler for more than a nanosecond. She blinked and returned to the conversation.

Fischer countered bluntly, "He was a gangster."*

"I didn't know that."*

_Yes, you knew that. Unless you're dumb as a box of rocks, _Lisbon thought. She looked at Jane but he was paying rapt attention to the conversation. Lisbon's cell vibrated. She stepped away to take Wylie's call. Wylie called her when Fischer's cell went to voice mail. Lisbon got the information and told Wylie to call Pike as well. She returned to Fischer and Jane as Markham denied knowing what Vargas did for a living. Fischer turned toward Lisbon.

"Wylie ID'd the vehicle," Lisbon said. "Late '60's Chevy Impala. There are three in the area, but none ... registered to the gunmen."*

"Do we know where the three are?"*

"One's in downtown Corpus Christi. Second was spotted near the warehouse district, and the third is in Bella Vista, so we have our day cut out for us,"* Lisbon replied. Markham was still within earshot.

Fischer belatedly dismissed Markham, "Thanks for your time, Ms. Markham." She and Lisbon walked toward the SUV, stopping when they realized Jane wasn't following. "Jane?"

"Give me a moment," he called and faced Markham with his back to the agents. Fischer and Lisbon exchanged glances and got into the SUV.

Fischer, "What's he doing?"

Lisbon, voice dry as dust, "Asking her out I imagine."

Fischer's eyebrows rose. "I wouldn't think she's his type," then winced and looked away from Lisbon.

"She isn't."

"Um, I – never mind." Fischer looked out the front windshield, glancing at Markham and Jane now and then.

Lisbon steadily watched them while taking care not to stare. Markham's gaze trailed down Jane's body, then back to his face. Her eyes flicked to his left hand then to his lips. Markham jotted something on a slip of paper and gave it to Jane. She smiled and walked away – a tall, cool drink of blond loveliness in the hot Texas sun. Lisbon's lips pressed tight for a moment before she smoothed her expression to neutral.

Jane slid onto the rear seat and closed the door.

"Got anything?" Lisbon asked.

"We should check out the warehouse district first. She reacted to that."*

"And?"

He grinned, "Her phone number."

Lisbon talked with Pike, who agreed to start with the warehouse district. Pike noted the warehouse district was no farther than downtown and a lot closer than Bella Vista. The silence en route was deafening.

**Warehouse District, Corpus Christi**

"This our car?"* asked Pike.

"Yep," answered Tork.

The four agents donned kevlar vests and stormed the warehouse, two taking the side door and two going in the front. Jane waited outside for safety. Several minutes later Tork surprised Jane when he pulled up the overhead door. Jane closed his cell and stepped inside.

Lisbon told him sourly, "Found the gunmen."

The three ID'd thugs lay dead on the warehouse floor. Each was shot in the head and had his throat slit, though there was rather less blood than might have been expected. Jane surveyed the scene. Lisbon recognized the germination of a theory when he cocked his head, but he said nothing and she didn't press him. The thugs' guns were holstered, suggesting they had been dispatched in cold blood by someone they knew ... and trusted.

The sharp ring of Jane's cell was startling. Jane moved away from the scene and answered in honeyed tones, "Hi, Krystal. ... I couldn't wait that long. So, how about dinner tonight? ... Great, great. ... Let's say 8:00. ... Um, shall I pick you up – or meet you there? ... Awesome. Look forward to it."* He turned back and was met with an angry glare from Lisbon and the disbelieving stares of Pike, Tork and Fischer. Jane shrugged and smirked.

After a moment Pike cleared his throat and turned back to the scene. "Hey –" he exclaimed, sliding a burner cell phone from under a wooden pallet. He picked it up with gloved hands. "If we're lucky, this belonged to one of them."

They left a quarter-hour later, turning the crime scene over to forensics. Lagging behind the others, Pike grabbed Jane's arm before they reached the SUV's. Jane stiffened and paused. Quietly, "Good you figured out this location from Markham, Jane. But make any personal calls on your own time." Only someone who knew him well would have noticed the vast amusement Jane was hiding. Jane just nodded. The five drove back to the DEA office to chew over the new information.

**DEA Conference Room, Corpus Christi**

"So all three victims were killed in the same fashion. Throat slit and shot in the head close range," Pike summarized. Jane blinked at the summary and Lisbon's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Cifuentes responded, "Someone sure wanted these men dead. You work any cartel murders before?"*

"Enough to know this fits their M.O.,"* Pike answered.

"Just what I was thinking."

"Found this burner phone at the scene," Pike said as he pulled the evidence bag from his pocket. "No numbers in the contacts.* Six calls were made in the past three days to the same number." Jane impatiently drummed his fingers on the table, earning an irritated glance from Pike.

"Try it?" asked Higgins.

"Discontinued, but the phone company says it was registered to a Frank Price." The DEA agents leaned forward. "Recognize him?"

Cifuentes, eyes gleaming, "That's a known alias of Francisco 'Paco' Perez-"

Higgins added, "-Who has strong family ties to the Espedes cartel in Bogota."*

Tork asked, "You said he's been in the States the last three months. Doing what?"*

"Not sure."*

"Before that?"*

"Again, not sure. Colombian records aren't what they could be."*

Pike picked it up again, "And you like him for our Mr. X?"

Cifuentes nodded. "Always have. The other suspects – Ruiz and Ellis? They fit the profile but, uh, I've met 'em, talked to 'em. Running a drug ring? Murder? I don't see them as being capable."

Fischer asked with a frown, "Then why not just move in on Perez?"*

"He was a hard sell to my supervisors. Our intel tells us that Perez is a middleman between the cartel and the Corpus Christi drug ring, not the man in charge. But for my money, he's the guy."*

Pike exhaled in frustration. "We're having a hard time tracking Perez down."*

"Perez keeps a low profile. To be honest, I'm surprised he left behind a burner cell. It's not like him. It's sloppy."*

The meeting ended and Jane immediately popped up from his chair. Pike frowned at him and said to the group, "We'll break till tomorrow unless the local LEO's find Perez before then. Meet up at the hotel lobby at 8:00 a.m." Wylie had reserved hotel rooms for them nearby. The group gravitated toward the door. Pike and Fischer automatically grouped together from past association in Austin, with Tork tagging along as Pike's friend. Jane impatiently ushered Lisbon out the door to take the other SUV.

**En Route to Hotel, Corpus Christi**

Lisbon slammed shut the driver's door, not quite ripping it from its hinges. Jane got in and gently closed the passenger door.

Once underway Lisbon growled, "What the _hell_ was all that, Jane?"

"All what?"

She took a breath to rein in her temper. "You're being a complete ass around Pike and Tork."

Coolly, "Annoying them _is_ required."

"Yeah, but do you have to be so damn good at it?" she muttered to herself. Louder, "Okay, you obviously think Markham knows more than she says–"

"–knew about the warehouse–"

"–so what's your plan?"

He shrugged, "Just fishing for info," as he carefully watched her face.

"Hmph," she grunted, not buying it.

Amusement flooded his face. "Well, well, well. Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Teresa?"

"In your dreams. -You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" he asked innocently.

"Playing your own game, keeping secrets. What did you see at the warehouse?"

"What makes you–"

"Oh, _please._ I can read you, too, Jane."

They arrived at the hotel, parked, got their keycards and took the elevator to their floor.

"The blood," he answered after the other guest exited the elevator.

"Go on."

"Correct me if I'm wrong – I'm not, though – but doesn't a cartel hit _start_ with slitting their throats _and then_ shooting them in the head? There's–"

"–not enough blood! You think they were shot first and then had their throats cut to make it look like a cartel hit."

"Yeah. No blood pressure if they were already dead. I didn't see the kind of arterial spray we should have seen if their throats were slit first."

"Maybe. Makes sense. –So if not a cartel hit, then who?" They got off on their floor.

Soberly, "Someone who wants it to look like one. Misdirection. The elusive Mr. X hiding behind the cartel."

"And where does Markham fit in?"

He pressed his lips together. "Remains to be seen. She's involved somehow in a lot bigger way than just Vargas' girlfriend."

"And so you're going to dinner with her." Sarcastically, "No back-up, no monitoring. Lying to–"

"–Uh, just not telling–"

"-Pike."

"Lisbon. I'm having dinner with a woman in a public restaurant – this hotel's restaurant, as a matter of fact. Stop worrying!" Checking that the corridor was empty, he kissed her at her door and walked on to his room. Neither denying nor confirming a relationship, they just didn't advertise it. As expected, Wylie had booked separate, but adjacent rooms.

**Hotel Room, Corpus Christi**

Lisbon roughly stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. _Damn, smug jackass. _Jealous!_ Why would I be jealous of a tall, drop-dead gorgeous woman 15 years younger who's coming on to my – my – partner. No reason at all._

She lathered and scrubbed with extra vigor._ Early days and the body count is already eight. But, no! I'm not s'posed to worry that Jane finds dangerous, devious women fascinating._

She rinsed and stood under the showerhead as the needle spray pounded the tension from her shoulders._ Dammit, I don't call the shots anymore. I can't pull his ass from the fire when his schemes crash and burn. I swear, self-preservation instinct of a lemming." _She toweled off, inserted a tampon and dressed.

She placed a call. "Kim, Lisbon. ... Can I interest you in dinner? ... Hotel restaurant, if that's okay with you. ... Yeah. ... How about 7:45?"


	38. Chapter 38 - It Takes Two

**Chapter 38: It Takes Two...**

A/N: Passages marked with asterisks (*) are quotations from The Mentalist "White Lines" episode. Episode details were modified to fit this story, apologies to The Mentalist writers.

**Hotel Restaurant, Corpus Christi**

Lisbon had chosen flats, dark dress jeans, and silk blouse with a blazer to hide her service piece. Though not expecting to use it, she felt better when fully equipped to "serve and protect." The maitre 'd seated her at the corner table toward the back as she requested. Potted ficus trees partly screened the table while affording a good view of the restaurant.

"Hey. Hope I'm not late," Fisher said lightly as she slid into the booth opposite Lisbon, back to the room.

"I was early." Glancing at the server, "A moment, please." Both women scanned the wine list.

"Do you have Vouvray wines?" The server pointed to the relevant selections and Fischer chose from the list. "I'm no connoisseur but you should try this. Really good."

Dubiously, "If it's available by the glass–"

"We'll split a quartino," suggested Fischer, handing the server the list. The server departed leaving an awkward silence. Fischer spoke first. "I don't want this hanging over the evening."

Lisbon blinked in dismay. "Fisher – Kim, you don't have to say anything."

"Yes I do." She looked up. "I'm ashamed of where my ambition led me." She swallowed, "Thank you for saving my life. I appreciate the chance to work together after my unprofessional behavior."

Lisbon looked to the side, regretting the conversation, questioning the wisdom of inviting her. She said shortly, "No one leads a perfect life," and poured wine to change the topic.

Fischer grinned when Lisbon nodded in surprised appreciation. "Told you. It's a favorite." Tentatively, "I really do want to learn how your team closed every case back in California."

Lisbon caught sight of Jane escorting Krystal Markham to a table across the room as the server took their orders.

The evening improved from there. Lisbon kept an eye on her partner and his dinner date, but it was just an uneventful dinner as Jane predicted. Lisbon gradually warmed to Fischer's company as they talked shop, trading interesting and amusing law-enforcement stories. Fischer's years in DC included cases of international importance. Some involved prominent figures, allowing Lisbon a glimpse behind the political curtain. In turn, Lisbon was pleased when Fischer wanted to know about more than Jane's exploits. It was the first time Lisbon's management observations in context of a political, hidebound bureaucracy held anyone spellbound. They were surprised to find they had Virgil Minelli in common. Even though he left before Fischer joined the FBI, she heard about him from the senior agents. Minelli had kicked around several Federal agencies before landing in California law-enforcement a few decades earlier.

It was late. Fischer twisted around to signal the server for the check. She stilled then slowly turned back with eyebrows raised.

"You're back-up for Jane."

Lisbon shrugged and sipped her coffee. "Coincidence they're here."

Fischer leaned back, eyeing Lisbon speculatively. "Jane's interested in Markham to solve the case." When Lisbon didn't reply, "I have no axe to grind. In fact," she sipped her coffee, "when I said Jane wanted to pump Markham for info, Pike and Tork couldn't see past her looks."

Lisbon said carefully, "Markham could know something. No harm in dinner."

Fischer smiled archly. "Jane risked life in prison for a reason. I doubt it was sniffing around Markham."

Lisbon swallowed and accepted the check without comment, afraid she'd complicated Jane's get-out-of-Texas-free scheme. They rose and bid each other good night as Jane shepherded Markham to a waiting taxi.

**Hotel, Corpus Christi**

Lisbon had turned in. She left the connecting door between their rooms ajar for Jane. The patter of shower spray was unexpected as he usually showered in the morning. Thirty minutes later she was having a hard time staying awake. _Hurry up, Jane. Did you drown in there or–_ She clenched her jaw at the flash of memory. After a shaky breath,_ Want to know what you got._

Light flared and died in his room. Moments later he slid into bed prone alongside her.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Waited up, huh?" surprised she was awake. He pulled her close and found her lips by touch.

She heard the grin in his voice, her answering smile hidden by darkness. "Curious about what you learned."

Jane mumbled into his pillow, "In the morning. Tired."

She nudged him in the ribs, "Yeah, it's _so_ tough dining with a beautiful woman."

"Paying attention for hours _is_ work." The pillow didn't muffle the hint of annoyance.

"Jane. You _enjoy_ dangerous, tricky women."

He sighed wearily. "Fun solving mysteries. And _of course_ attractive is more pleasing than ugly. But Krystal Markham is all work."

They'd somehow gotten far afield but she couldn't let it go. She skipped the most explosive example. "Erica Flynn. Jennifer Sands. Kristina. And that fake psychiatrist Brooke whatever her na–"

"-Harper," he automatically supplied, then grimaced. His memory palace wasn't helping his cause. He rolled onto his back and tried a different tack. "Just like you. You're good at interrogating, take satisfaction in the confessions. It's still work."

"C'mon. You enjoy it. That's a lot of dangerous and devious damsels."

"I was in a different place then." He exhaled sharply and rolled to his feet. He padded across the room and slid his keycard off the dresser. The mini-bar light bloomed as he pulled out a single-serve bottle of liquor. He got ice then set his glass on the nightstand. He sat against the headboard with a knee drawn up.

Lisbon rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. _That was unexpected._ "Jane? What are you thinking?" City glow seeped through the drapes and defined his silhouette.

"We need to talk about this. Now that we're together."

"About what?"

Emotionlessly, "Attracting and charming women _was_ part of my con. But business rules and logic applied. It's easier milking existing clients than getting new ones. Most were woman. Bored, distraught, curious or whatever, yeah, many wanted ... more intimate services." Ice cubes clattered as he took a sip. Slowly, "I didn't cross that line. It would've been over if just one wealthy husband found me doing more than readings. The rich talk among themselves." He turned to Lisbon in the dark. "It would have destroyed my marriage." He paused. "My father tried to 'monetize' me that way when I hit 16. One reason I got out."

"Patrick, I didn't mean–"

Voice expressionless, "Markham's ice cold, not just hard to read. Charming criminals is work. As different from a date as interrogation is from visiting a friend."

Lisbon sat up. Leaning against him, she rubbed his chest affectionately and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for telling me. Didn't understand how you see it. Sorry."

Jane cupped her cheek and breathed, "God knows I have my failings. But I don't confuse pretty packaging with real beauty," and kissed her cheeks and mouth. "Bedtime." He drained the rest of his drink and slid down to lie flat. Lisbon nestled against his side, head on his shoulder. She thought she heard, "Thanks for the back-up," but wasn't sure. A long sigh and both were asleep.

**Hotel, Morning, Corpus Christi**

Lisbon sipped coffee as Jane finished his eggs, mindful they were supposed to meet Pike in the lobby at 8 a.m.

"Did you learn anything from Markham?"

He sipped his tea. "Markham knew about the warehouse where the thugs were killed. Being so hard to read, she probably has brains. Where she fits in? –Unclear, as is how it all comes together. The thugs were murdered to _look _like a cartel hit–"

Lisbon picked it up. "–but Cifuentes and Higgins already ruled out Ruiz and Ellis. That leaves 'Paco' Perez who _does_ have cartel connections. The real deal wouldn't need to fake it."

"And parts were suspiciously easy. Finding _one_ undiscovered security camera. ID'ing the shooters so fast. Getting their location, only to find _them_ murdered."

"Like someone's trail of breadcrumbs?"

"Frame someone, let us find an 'answer' so we quit looking."

After taking a gulp of coffee Lisbon noted, "You know Pike's gonna go after Perez soon as we get a location."

Jane shrugged. "Won't want me for a takedown. Think I'll keep after Markham."

"Because?"

"More promising than being led around by whomever's masterminding this."

"And you're gonna keep me in the loop."

He flashed a smile. "Absolutely."

**Corpus Christi PD Headquarters, Corpus Christi**

The FBI team worked the case from a temporary base of operations in the main Corpus Christi PD station. Visits to Ruiz and Ellis established alibis for each during the DEA murders. More relevant, phone records revealed the burner phone found at the warehouse murder scene showed no calls to or from Ruiz or Ellis, only from the Perez alias. The forensics and ME reports were delivered for the murders of the DEA agents and the hit men. Pike passed around the reports and they chewed over the surprising conclusion that the murdered thugs had been shot before having their throats cut. Lisbon suppressed a smile at the amused glint in Jane's eyes. She avoided glancing at Fischer, who seemed to pay more attention to them than Pike and Tork. So far, neither the BOLO nor the Corpus Christi PD's CI's had located Perez.

Jane returned after stepping outside to take an unexpected call. "Markham proves useful again."

"What've you got, Jane?" Pike asked.

"Markham remembered a condo Perez has under an alias. Here's the location." Jane tossed him his handwritten note.

Pike nodded, "Good work. Agents, make sure your gear's in the SUV's. We'll pay that condo a visit. Tork, get hold of the watch sergeant. I want a half dozen LEO's for perimeter control in case he's there and tries to run. Jane, come or stay, but you're not part of the op."

"I'll stay."

Lisbon gave Jane a piercing look as she filed out with the other agents. Jane shrugged, nodding his reassurance he'd stay out of trouble.

They returned ninety minutes later with security camera recordings, tablet, PC, and a sheaf of paper records. They didn't get Perez, but had seized possessions that might provide valuable information, courtesy of the search warrant they'd secured and printed en route in the FBI SUV.

Lisbon frowned at Jane's absence. The watch sergeant remembered Jane leaving soon after the team. She belatedly checked her phone and found a text message she'd missed when their cells were silenced during the raid. _'_Shopping. Back soon_.' Great._ The message was from an hour ago.

Jane breezed in with packages under his arm and takeout for two. Handing Lisbon a bag redolent of burgers and fries he beamed, "Here's lunch. You can thank me by giving your opinion on these two shirts." Lisbon blinked, _What?_ Jane pulled two dress shirts from a department store bag, one a crisp white with French cuffs, the other a classic Oxford with thin pin stripes.

Taken aback, Lisbon silently accepted the food and sat down at a desk. With a puzzled frown, "Why new shirts?" By now all eyes were on them. Lisbon colored slightly in embarrassment.

Airily, "The ones I brought have seen better days." He presented both and waited for her reaction. Lisbon chose one at random, shaking her head a little. Back to the room she hissed in a bare whisper, "You gonna explain?"

He grinned and nodded, then motioned Fischer over as she walked in. "Fischer. Which one?"

"Uh, that one, I guess. What's the occasion?"

"Dinner with Krystal."

"Oh." Fischer threw a sharp glance at Lisbon, then walked on.

Pike and Tork exchanged looks. Tork's contempt was matched by Pike's disgust at Jane's lack of professionalism.

After finishing her lunch Lisbon stepped out to go to the ladies room. Jane was leaning against the wall.

Quietly, "What're you planning?"

"I think Markham's the key. I set up dinner. Her place at 5."

"I'm monitoring, then. Wire?"

He shook his head. "Too risky. Could give me away."

Lisbon thought, _Yeah, if she's plastered against your body,_ but only said, "What do you expect to get?"

"See if I can trip her up."

Suddenly frowning, "What the hell was that about the shirts?"

He grinned, "Just making myself unlikeable to Pike and Tork."

She glowered, "And me."

"Not." He brushed her cheek with a kiss and left before she could react.

She exhaled in relief that no one else was around.

Jane left for his date. A scant ten minutes later a woman called the Corpus Christi PD with an anonymous tip. She saw someone who looked like the news photo of Perez in a vacant house. Pike reassembled the FBI agents and PD LEO's for the second time that day. Target: Vacant house 30 minutes away.

"Tork, Lisbon, MOVE. Fischer, you're with me." Tork and Lisbon left on the run. Pike turned to Fischer. "Fischer, check the gear while I coordinate with the PD. NOW!"

Pike and Fischer left a few minutes later.

**En Route To Vacant House, Corpus Christi**

"Tork, what about Jane?"

"What?" Tork's attention was on driving as they sped to the house.

"Jane thinks Markham's involved."

"He's fishing for info, right?"

Lisbon huffed in frustration. "Who knows what could happen."

"He can call the PD. Phone the watch sergeant so he alerts the call center."

"But–"

"Just do it. It'll be my balls if we lose Perez worrying about Jane."

Lisbon took a deep breath. "Okay." She called the PD then texted Jane. Lips pressed into a thin line, she silenced her cell when they were within five minutes of the house.

**Vacant House, Corpus Christi**

Tork and Lisbon arrived in the middle of a firefight. Cops surrounded the house, bullets flying. The police commander was shouting over the din.

"Down! Down, down, down, down!"*

"Cease fire! Cease fire! -CEASE. FIRE! Jackson, Salazar, with me."*

Tork and Lisbon rushed the house with the cops, Kevlar vests ID'ing them as FBI. It was all over when Pike and Fischer arrived ten minutes later, having been delayed by a train.

"What's up,* Tork?" Pike called as his unit leader exited the house.

"We found Perez. He's dead."*

"What happened?"*

"Well, it looks like he opened fire on Corpus Christi PD. The officers fired back. They had more guns."*

"Did we get anything from the scene?"*

"A revolver. All six rounds were fired."*

"Pike, Tork," Lisbon called as she strode up. "There's something strange. I found a bullet hole in one of the window frames of the house."*

Pike asked, "So?"*

"It was at the _back_ of the house, which means someone was shooting from the backyard. I don't think Perez was alone."*

Tork, "Which means?"

Suddenly uneasy, "It was a set-up. There's nothing real about this."

Pike, "Good thinking. Let's–"

"Pike, I have a bad feeling about Markham. Jane's–"

Sternly, "It's a _date_ with a drug lieutenant's bimbo, agent! We'll finish here soon enough."

She closed her eyes and bit back an angry reply. "Yes, sir." She unsilenced her cell, relieved there were no messages. After a moment, she texted Jane to tell him the PD killed Perez, that it appeared to be a set-up, and that Markham increasingly looked like the ringleader. Lisbon and Tork wrapped up the scene while Pike and Fischer returned to the station, hoping to learn more from the records they'd seized earlier. Jane's call came thirty minutes later.

**The Bay, Corpus Christi**

Jane handed her flowers when she answered the door. "Beauty for beauty. You look lovely, Krystal."

"Hmm. That sounds like a practiced line, Patrick."

"With you, I mean it."

"Sweet. -I thought we could have a drink down by the water. My friend has a boat he lets me use. What do you say?"*

"Sounds wonderful."*

A bit later, they arrived at the dock. Jane stopped dead as they approached a sleek yacht.

"Your friend lets you borrow this?"*

"Mm-hmm. He doesn't get a chance to use it very much anymore."*

"Isn't he generous? Wow, some friend."*

"Mm."*

"Should I be jealous?"*

"Always.* Help me with those lines?" Markham asked with a smile.

"All this just for a drink?" Jane complied nonetheless. He freed the lines, coiled them and tossed them aboard. Out of sight for the moment, he pressed speed dial 1 on his cell and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He gracefully boarded from the pier and Markham pulled away, motors making a smooth purr.

**En Route To PD, Corpus Christi**

Lisbon noted the call was from Jane and automatically muted it, knowing he was with Markham. She struggled to hear the muffled sound over the road noise, and stared at it in alarm. _A boat?! Dammit, Jane!_ "Tork, how long till we're at the PD?"

"Half hour. What's up, Lisbon?"

"Jane's on a boat with Markham. May need a 'copter for back-up."

Mildly. "It's a date. Even if she's involved, she's just the girlfriend. What could happen?"

Grimly, "With Jane – _anything._ How do I get one if I need it?"

"Pike can authorize the expense, but gotta go through the PD to actually get one."

Lisbon briefly closed her eyes, juggling her options. "Tork, lend me your cell?" She dialed as soon as he handed it to her. Voice mail. She dialed again. "Fischer, where's Pike? ... Jane's on a boat in the bay with Markham. ... I'm an hour away. May need a 'copter for back-up. ... Can you? Yeah, please."

Tork frowned. "Hey. I'm not backing this, don't have the authority."

"Tork, just drive." Belatedly she added, "Please. I'll worry about the money later."

"Your neck." He clapped the flashing light on the SUV roof and went faster.

**The Bay, Corpus Christi**

Markham leaned back comfortably as Jane stood behind, arms around her waist. "The piers are crowded. Much nicer out a bit. Sunset's gorgeous from here." She cut off the motors a couple of miles out.

Motioning him to relax on the built-in seating, Markham disappeared inside to the galley, quickly returning with two bottles of wine and a platter of cheeses and fruit.

"How's your investigation coming?"*

"Oh, we've had some breakthroughs. We found Paco Perez, thanks to you."* He nibbled a few grapes.

She handed him the corkscrew and one bottle. "Oh? Is he in custody?"*

"No, uh, dead. Corpus Christi police shot him dead. ... Well, at least that's what they think happened."*

"And you?"* Markham poured two glasses, handing one to Jane.

"Oh, I like to keep an open mind."* Jane glanced around the open water as the day gathered into twilight.

"I like that about you. Cheers."*

"Cheers,"* he responded. They toasted.

"Now that Paco is dead, I imagine you'll be heading back to Austin."*

"In due time, yeah."*

"What's keeping you here?"*

"You are."*

"Sorry. Excuse me, so rude. –You're a wanted man. Maybe I'm the one who should be jealous."*

"It's just work. Nothing important."*

"Well, personally, I hope your investigation drags on for weeks."*

"Well sadly, I don't think it's gonna go on much longer. I have a new theory."*

"Can you share it with me?"*

"Sure. I trust you. First thing that stuck out to me was that the gunmen knew of two of the hidden cameras, but not a third. Didn't make sense. Unless, of course, the person that sent the gunmen in wanted them to be caught."*

"Clever."*

"Yeah, it is."*

"And the second thing?"*

"Well, it's just a theory, like I said, but this Mr. X that the DEA keeps talking about – we know he's disciplined, he's organized, he's careful. And smart. But, but here's a man that runs this huge drug ring. And doesn't just run it. He runs it seamlessly. And yet no one knows who he is. He's a man that's completely void of ego. And in all my life, I don't know that I've ever met a man who could do that. A man who would completely shun all attention? –That just got me thinking, and, well, you know, maybe this Mr. X is a woman..."*

**En Route To PD, Corpus Christi**

Lisbon swore and slammed her fist on the dashboard. Tork jumped and stared at her till a blaring horn whipped his attention back to the road.

Lisbon yelled, "Goddamned idiot!" and redialed Fischer.

"What the hell?"

"He's telling Markham."

"Telling her _what?"_ he yelled in frustration. Lisbon was already busy with Fischer.

"Fischer! Get that 'copter and find Jane. ... A couple miles out in the bay. ... Trying to get a confession from Markham. **She's it – Mr. X.** ... _Yeah she's __dangerous_– nine bodies! ... Thank God." She ended the call and took a deep breath as she ran her hand through her hair.

Tork spared a second to look. Voice tight with tension, "Jane's on some damn boat accusing Markham of murder?"

Jaw clenched, "Yeah."

"He have a fucking death wish?" He pressed harder on the accelerator.

"Sometimes I think so," she bit out, then sat silent and white-knuckled as they careened toward the bay.

**The Bay, Corpus Christi**

"This woman – who do you think she is? Hmm?"*

"You."*

"What makes you say that?"*

"You're smart. Smart enough to let people think that you're not. Which is exactly the trait that allowed Mr. X to be a mystery for all these years. ... Besides, I knew better than to think that you were interested in me, because – Well, you were interested in _me._"*

"You underestimate yourself."*

"Not this time."*

"Well, I guess we'll never know."*

"Hmm?"*

Toying with him now, "A question – If I am so capable–"*

"–Mm-hmm–"*

"–So smart as you say, how did I end up here? Where did I go wrong?"*

"It wasn't anything you did. You were flawless. –Really. And the way you set the gunmen up to be caught, and killing them, and linking the murder to Perez, and having Perez killed the way you did – my particular favorite. I mean, the Corpus Christi police probably still think that they shot him."*

"You're wrong about one thing, Patrick. I didn't have Paco killed. I shot him myself."* She revealed the gun hidden in her clothes.

Jane swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as he stared at the infinitely black hole at the end of the barrel.

Faintly, "Ah. My mistake." An iron discipline kept him from looking around as he heard the distant whup whup of helicopter blades._ Stall, stall, stall!_

"Yes it is."*

"If you shoot me, you'll be caught."*

"Look around, Patrick. No witnesses.* They may not even find your body. And I'll be long gone."

"Maybe. But the FBI has been listening to everything you've said. ... And they will be arriving right about – Now. Now!"*

"Nice try–"*

**"THIS IS THE FBI. DROP YOUR WEAPON NOW."** Markham looked up, shocked by the brilliant floodlights, noise, and wind. Jane slipped over the side into the water.

Fischer aimed her gun at Markham till the blonde dropped her weapon. A cop trained for rescue work clambered down a rope ladder to the deck and roughly cuffed the murderer. Fischer holstered her piece and gingerly climbed down as well. The helicopter wheeled and headed back to shore.

As soon as Markham was secured below, Fischer hooked the boat's ladder over the side and dropped it into the water. She was glad Jane managed to scramble up despite the numbing cold of the water, not fancying rescuing him.

Fischer shook her head in astonishment at the dripping wet, shivering man. "Can't believe you took that risk. You're crazy."

"S-s-so I've been told."

She tossed him a blanket she'd brought from below. "You okay till we reach shore?"

"C-can you–"

"Grew up on the Chesapeake. Sit down before you collapse. And bundle up."

Fischer started the engine and piloted back, choosing a slip at random for docking. The cop helped with mooring. By now Pike, Tork and Lisbon had arrived. Markham was hustled into a waiting police cruiser, to be held by the PD till the FBI interrogated and charged her later. Lisbon looked Jane up and down, verifying he was unharmed, but said nothing.

Tork scowled then suddenly smirked. "Helluva stunt, Jane. You should probably get dry clothes." He walked off toward one of their SUV's.

"You're okay?" Pike asked with real concern. "I mean, other than being wet?" Jane nodded, still shivering. "When we get back to Austin we'll go over how we conduct FBI ops, Jane." Then, looking at Lisbon and Fischer, "And proper authorization procedure." His jaw worked for a moment and he added, "Good work figuring it out. –You three take the other SUV. Drive back tonight or tomorrow, your choice."

Fischer looked at Jane then Lisbon. "I, uh, guess I'll get the SUV." She turned to leave but paused when Jane called out.

"Fischer – Kim," he swallowed, "thanks."

Evenly, "Returning the favor. Be back in a minute."

Lisbon and Jane were left standing on the pier. Lisbon said stiffly, "I'd rather go back tomorrow if that's okay."

"Yeah."

"You're not hurt?"

Jane wordlessly shook his head.

**Hotel, Corpus Christi**

Fischer, Lisbon and Jane rode in silence for the twenty minutes back to the hotel. They agreed to meet the morrow at 10 a.m. for the drive back to Austin. Fischer got off on her floor, leaving Lisbon and Jane to ride up to theirs. By now Jane was merely soaked rather than dripping wet.

"Lisbon, I–"

"Not now. I can't talk about this tonight, Jane."

"Good night then." He entered his room and closed the door.

Lisbon entered her room next door, this time leaving the connecting door closed. She filled the tub with hot water and submerged up to her neck, shuddering with residual adrenaline and fear. Her cell phone vibrated, chattering on the tub's edge. She shook the water off one hand and answered, putting it on speakerphone. _God, nothing more on the damn case. Not tonight._

"Lisbon," voice flat.

"Boss? – Is this a bad time?"

She felt like laughing. Or crying. "Sorry, Grace. Rough day."

"I, um, I just called to catch up, but if it's not a good–"

"Actually, I'd love to talk – anything for something different to think about."

"Oh."

"Let's start over. Everyone okay?"

"We're all fine. Wayne and I just started at the CIB."

She exhaled, releasing a little more tension and sat higher. "Tell me."

"Lots of new people – no surprise after all the Blake scum in the old CBI. New computer systems, all sorts of technology. A-n-d, Hightower is okay." There was a note of pleased surprise.

"In what way?"

"She's respected by anyone who knows her. And, well, she's not quite as hardass as before. Boss, the way she's setting things up is better than the CBI. She has the pull to keep political interference to a minimum."

Dubious, "Good. That's good. Just be prepared for some eventually. How about your team?"

"I've recruited two, have one more to fill. John Gable is in his late 20's. He's young and tech savvy, but experienced enough to be effective immediately. Margaret Henson is my other hire. She's only been in law enforcement a couple of years, but she's bright, ambitious and really pitches in–"

"–sounds like someone I hired a while back," smile apparent in her voice.

Embarrassed, "Thanks, Boss."

"You have one more position. –Would you consider Jason Wylie?"

Van Pelt took a deep breath. "I'd love Jason but it doesn't make sense. Why would he want to go from the FBI to the CIB? Step down."

Lisbon sighed. "You're right. I just wonder how well he's gonna take it when Jane–" her voice hitched, "–when Jane and I leave, too."

"You sound pretty rough. Want to talk about it?"

Lisbon breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. "I don't. But I think I need to."

"So?"

She leaned back and closed her eyes. "We – Jane solved a case today."

"Which is good?"

"And almost got himself killed."

Alarmed, "He okay?"

"Yeah. He ended up on a boat alone with a woman who murdered nine people. To get her confession."

"I – I wish I could say it's a one time thing. But it's Jane. It's how he _is_."

"That is exactly the problem. He's trying. But he's always going to reach for the brass ring, try to get the confession. A-n-d I'm in no position to protect him here."

Cautiously, "What do you mean?"

"He was pretty open about his suspicions. Went on a 'date' with her and I was s'posed to monitor it. Grace, I got pulled off for a take-down of another suspect. We knew that suspect didn't do it, but Pike and Tork–"

"Rick Tork?"

"Yeah – they weren't interested. Hell, I'm not sure they care about Jane at all."

"What are you going to do? If Cho came back-"

"No. Not fair to ask Cho to put us above family. We'll do the best we can and hope to hell Jane gets out of the FBI as soon as possible."

Van Pelt sighed. "Tough situation."

Lisbon blurted, "And my period came."

"What?"

"Damn. Didn't mean to get into that."

"Are – are you _trying_ to get pregnant?"

"We're interested. Jane is done with putting his life on hold." She cleared her throat. "If there's any chance I need to try _now._ I'm not willing to go though the heavy duty infertility treatment and all that_._"

"What if..."

"Don't know. If it doesn't work, especially if Jane gets himself out of the FBI, we'll find another way. Adoption. Something. Anyhow, now that we want it, when it doesn't happen it's ... hard."

"What can we do?"

"Nothing, Grace. It's okay, I just needed to vent. It's been a long day, if you don't–"

"I've got to go anyhow. I hear Taylor fussing."

"Grace, thanks for listening."

"Boss, you and Jane are the most capable people I know. I'm sure you'll find a way. Can I–"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, nothing. Listen, gotta go."

"Good night. Say 'hi' to Wayne for us. Cho, too, if you hear from him."

"I will. Bye." Van Pelt decided she didn't need to ask if she could pray for them.

The next morning Lisbon woke to Jane's gentle knock, followed shortly by room service. They ate most of the meal while making small talk. When they were down to tea and coffee, Jane said, "We going to talk about it?"

Lisbon sighed. "What happened, Jane? How did you end up on a boat with her? And did you _have to_ try to get a confession with zero back-up?"

"I tried. You knew I suspected her, that I was going to dinner with her." Intensely, "_Where were you?_"

Lisbon looked stricken. "Pike pulled me off for the Perez takedown. What was I s'posed to do?"

"Oh." Jane looked guilty and sad in return. "Nothing you could do and stay in the FBI."

Lisbon came over and sat next to him on the bed. Gently, "What happened, Jane? The boat, her being armed?"

"She suggested the boat soon as I arrived. If I refused that would have ended any chance of conning her. As for the other, she didn't have Perez and the hit men killed. She shot them herself. I should have known."

"Did you have to go after the confession stuck there alone?"

He spread his hands. "How else? Nothing but circumstantial evidence, and tenuous at that. She'd walk. Worse, she'd continue it all."

Lisbon sighed. "Yeah." She kissed him tenderly. "I was terrified. You've _got_ to be careful. Let 'em walk if necessary." He stared at her, shaking his head a little in amazement at hearing that suggestion from her. "And we've gotta get out of the FBI."

"Working on it." He hugged her tight and rose. "C'mon. We'll make it work. Always do."


	39. Chapter 39 - Team Building

**Chapter 39: Team Building**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted verbatim from The Mentalist _Violets_ episode script.

**Oakland**

The murmur of Cho's mother and aunt chatting in Korean triggered boyhood memories. Holiday family gatherings had followed a set pattern, always at their house as befit the eldest male family member. The women congregated in the kitchen, animatedly talking while preparing a feast of traditional Korean food. Cho's father and uncles waited in the living room without much conversation, often playing Godori around a folding card table. The tv was off. American football wasn't popular in Korea and the senior Cho hated baseball which was brought to Korea by missionaries in the early 1900's. Telecasts of traditional sports such as taekwondo or badminton were rare in the US in the 1980's and '90's.

The doorbell halted his musings.

"Rigs, Grace," he greeted, surprised. He patted Taylor's head and ruffled the boy's hair when Ben hugged his waist. The Rigsby family crowded in, pausing in the foyer.

"I baked a cake for your mother," Van Pelt said as the two women bustled out of the kitchen. His aunt did a double-take at Rigsby's height before accepting the cake with a smile.

"Welcome," said Mrs. Cho who startled Cho by accepting a hug from Van Pelt.

"We have to meet the people who bought our house and can't stay," Rigsby explained regretfully, shifting Taylor to his other arm. " But we wanted to add our congratulations, Mrs. Cho."

"Thank you, Wayne. If you not stay, you take food," patting him warmly on the arm.

His mother led Van Pelt and Ben into the kitchen. Cho blinked at the familiarity that had developed between mother and friends during her months of recovery.

Wistfully, "Man, I'd give a lot to have my mom making our favorite dishes." Rigsby's mother had died soon after he graduated from college. At Cho's raised eyebrow, "The relatives came over when my old man was away." Cho knew "away" probably meant in prison or raising hell. "When do you start the new job?"

"Week from now. After I oversee the movers."

"Know anything about it yet?"

Cho motioned him to the couch. He took the easy chair. "I take an agent position in the Frisco office for two months till the team leader retires and I move up. Inherit one newbie and one older guy. One vacancy."

Rigsby sat with Taylor in his lap, letting her play with his keys while they talked. "What about Mancini? He got SAC for the whole Sacramento division after Shultz was arrested in the Blake round-up."

Cho nodded. "Meet this week. Clear the air. I hope to end up in the Sacramento division, eventually."

Rigsby nodded. "It was rough between the CBI and FBI back–"

"-Wayne, take Ben, please," called Van Pelt as she juggled several foil-covered containers.

Rigsby rose hurriedly. "Hey. Gotta go." He held the door for his wife and son, then hustled the kids into their car seats. Van Pelt stowed the food in a cooler then returned for a goodbye hug with Mrs. Cho. Rigsby waited by the SUV with the kids, cautious in the rough neighborhood.

Min-Ji arrived first. She entered with her own key and momentarily froze when she caught sight of Cho. She gave a terse greeting in Korean with a look that threw daggers and immediately went to the kitchen. Cho noted she sidestepped the traditional honorifics of younger to older, not to mention female to male. Whatever the reason for her attitude, it wasn't personal. He'd only met her once for a few minutes.

Cho's parents were the first from their families to emigrate. After getting established in the US, they sponsored the immigration of his mother's two sisters and one brother – half-siblings who were the children of her father's second wife. His mother's youngest brother remained in Korea. It was that brother's daughter Min-Ji who his mother was hosting to attend Berkeley.

Two more aunts and a gaggle of cousins arrived shortly after. The second aunt apologized that her husband was too ill to attend. She made a fuss over Cho, chattering excitedly at seeing her nephew for the first time in years. After saying "hi," his much-younger cousins stood around for an awkward moment before escaping to the fenced backyard.

Soon the folding tables set up outside were covered with platters of food, bottles of soda and the ubiquitous tea. His oldest aunt stood and congratulated his mother on her recovery in English. Unlike Cho, younger family members knew only a few Korean words. After a few minutes of polite conversation with his mother, his cousins gathered in a corner of the yard, laughing and kidding each other about school, sports, tv phenoms, boy- and girl-friends. Min-Ji hung nearby, not quite part of the kids or the adults. Cho stood near his mother and aunts, half minding their conversation, half wondering how he'd bridge the age difference and lack of anything in common.

The older women chatted in Korean, knowing the youngsters couldn't understand as they expressed hopes and fears about their kids. Other than Cho, there were only two adult children. Jade lived on the East coast with her kids. The other, Jun, was out of the picture while he served in the military. Of the cousins living at home, the oldest girl, Su, had a gang tattoo behind her ear that she tried to hide with her hair. Her mother knew Su flirted with a gang member and worried what would happen when she graduated from high school. The girl railed against the traditional path of wife and mother, but saw no better options around her. Considering her tough demeanor Cho thought it could go either way. Lee was a high school sophomore. The test scores that proved he was plenty smart contrasted wildly with his grades. His t-shirt and the ball he toyed with revealed Lee's real passion – soccer. Lee's mother said he only passed his courses to qualify for the school soccer team where he was a star. The others were pre-teens.

Later, when he sat in the shade of a tree eating dessert, Cho realized with a shock that all his cousins – not just Min-Ji - carefully skirted his chair, wary and maybe even afraid. Memory flashed back to his father, sitting silent and severe in the living room, forbidding and unapproachable. _Hm. Would-be gang girl might be leery of an FBI agent. And why would a wannabe soccer star think he has anything in common with a guy who wears a suit and works for a regular paycheck?_ Lee peeled off from the group and went inside. Cho followed a moment later.

"Hi."

The teen looked up, "Um, your mom said I could watch."

"Sure." Cho sat nearby, watching his cousin as much as the game. After awhile, "Your mom says you're good."

With a flash of surprise and pleasure, "She does? Yeah. Our team is 10-and-0 so far this season."

"Gonna do something with it?"

Determined, "Wanna go pro."

"Think you've got a chance?"

Relaxing as they talked about soccer, "Scouts say so. –Ma's against it."

"Was baseball for me. My father hated it. Blew out my ACL. Moot."

"Tough break."

"No guarantees. One bad injury and it's over."

Frowning, "Yeah, well it's my life. What I want."

"Why not give yourself more choices? Play soccer in college, then go pro if you can. If not or you get injured, you've got a back up."

"Not into schoolwork."

"Too hard?"

"What? No!"

"If you can get the grades, I'll help you deal with college applications and soccer scouts."

Lee snorted, "From Texas?"

"Based here now." Cho rose, said, "Think about it," and left. It was a start.

A while later Cho noticed Su standing alone as the others kicked around the soccer ball. Cho drifted over to stand nearby.

"Hey."

Su looked around and eased a step farther away. "Hey."

"You graduate soon. Plans?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just wondering."

Curtly, "Don't know. Not a lotta opportunity around here, y'know?"

"Why limit yourself to 'around here'?"

Bristling, "Easy for a guy. You became a cop. And now you're a big FBI agent."

Cho swigged soda from the bottle. "I was a gangbanger. Stupidest thing I ever did. Joined the military to get out, get away."

She turned to face him, eyes wide. "No shit!" After a moment, "Sorry."

"What do you want to do?"

She looked away. "Dunno. Don't want the whole wife and mother thing. Least not yet. Can't see scraping by as a store clerk or something." She added with feigned indifference, "Be nice to see the world, do something that matters. And that pays enough to _live_."

"Cop? Military? College?"

"Pfft. More school? No interest, no money. That just pushes it down the road. Jun says the military isn't exactly female-friendly. –Cops, too."

"My boss was a woman. Also some agents. They got crap but succeeded anyhow."

"Easy for you to say."

"Easy to make excuses. Come up with ideas and I'll help." Cho allowed himself the barest of smiles, "I know something about police and military."

She looked at him hard, stance relaxed. "Maybe I will." As he walked away, she called, "Cho – thanks."

**FBI, Austin, Monday**

The black arm advanced with a soft tick second-by-second, 3,600 per hour, 86,400 per day, 31,536,000 per year. Over four-hundred million seconds had elapsed since his wife and child were slaughtered and Jane marveled at everything that had transpired since–

"-Mr. Jane!"

He looked up at the seminar speaker: Middle aged male, ramrod straight, unimaginative, self-important. "Yes?" The other attendees milled around talking or queued up outside the restrooms during the ten minute break.

"You're presumably here because you need this information. Yet you're wasting your time and mine by not paying attenti–"

Jane reeled off verbatim, "'The agent in charge leads the planned field operation. He – or she – authorizes ad hoc changes necessitated by unexpected events, including requisitioning personnel and equipment from local law enforcement authorities.' Then you called a ten minute break. Did I miss something?" Jane squinted up at him from his position slouched in his chair.

Frostily, "The majority of attendees are new to the Bureau. More seasoned personnel–" the 'like you' was implied, "shouldn't _have_ to be here at all."

Jane smiled lazily. "Oh, I couldn't agree more. I'm here because I'm required to be by a boss overly fond of rules. And authority." Jane politely covered a yawn. "And while my time _is_ being wasted, you have to be here for the others – unless you think your seminar is worthless to them, too." The man flushed, pivoted, and stalked away.

Lisbon caught the tail end of the exchange when she returned from the restroom. She sighed. "Jane, must you bait him for doing his job? He's gonna complain."

"He's an officious twit who called me out for being bored by his droning lecture. I'm disturbing no one, just not bothering to fake interest." He rose gracefully. "I _want_ it to get back to Pike, remember?"

Her only response was another sigh. _This is worse than the CBI. There, everyone _knew_ Jane was outrageous. Now, he seems normal and they're shocked he doesn't act like an agent... _

By morning's end Lisbon had joined Jane in counting down the seconds. As he warned after Markham's arrest, Pike had forced them to attend this seminar on ops and requisition procedures. Attention drifting, she wondered at Jane's comment on the drive over. _Is Pike really in over his head? Hiding behind rules? –God help me, was I ever that rigid?_

Jane nudged her and whispered, "Nope. Despite keeping up appearances, you always were a bit subversive." She flicked his arm, shushing him as the seminar blessedly ground its way to the end.

Jane gratefully stood, stretched and unabashedly yawned. "Finally! The bullpen's exciting by comparison."

"Except we have a team building seminar after lunch. You'd know if you read your e-mails."

Jane groaned and yawned again. "No doubt some half-baked psychological tripe. Can't we just ditch this–"

"No. Hard to team build if half the team's missing."

"Who?"

"Us, Wylie, Fischer and Tork."

"Tork," he muttered distastefully. "Pike's really pushing for him to get the job."

They dutifully spent the afternoon on exercises to build a team that almost no one wanted built. Jane went through the motions without even pretending sincerity. Tork's hostility and distrust were barely hidden under a professional veneer. Lisbon participated honestly if unenthusiastically. Fischer participated but seemed more interested in what she could figure out about Lisbon and Jane than in team-building. Wylie was all wide-eyed, earnest confusion at the glaring failure of the exercises to build much of anything. It was a relief when the day ended, releasing them all from the pointless for-show activity.

**FBI, Austin, Tuesday**

Lisbon arrived on time and stowed her purse in her desk. Though they'd driven in together, Jane still hadn't appeared at his couch twenty minutes later. She decided to get coffee and see what was keeping him. She found him sipping tea while leaning against the corridor wall just outside the break room, intently observing Abbott through the glass wall of his office.

"Thought maybe you went on an emergency tea run," she teased.

"Shh," he said absently, attention rapt upon Abbott and his visitor. "Lip reading," he explained. A few minutes later the meeting ended and Abbott's guest left. They strolled back to the bullpen. Lisbon plopped down and swiveled her chair to face Jane's couch. "What was so interesting?"

After checking that no one could overhear, "According to Lira, Abbott's visitor was Bill Peterson, Texas head of the DEA."

"So?"

"Reasonable he'd stop by after we solved the murders of five DEA agents. What doesn't make sense is Abbott's reaction." She waited, eyebrows raised. "Abbott's tense, anxious. Afraid of him."

"Abbott doesn't scare easy."

"Why it's noteworthy."

The staffer who delivered mail inside the FBI building was on their floor. He exchanged a few words with Wylie then pushed his mail cart over near Lisbon and Jane. "Letter for Patrick Jane." Jane raised his hand. "Where's your in-box?"

Jane held out his hand. The carrier gave him the letter, grumbling about how everyone was supposed to have an in-box. Jane opened the cream colored, rag stock envelope and stopped dead.

"Jane?" Lisbon called quietly. "What is it?"

He handed it to her. No return address. Other than a folded Washington Post newspaper article, the enclosed card was blank except for an elegant, handwritten "B" at bottom right. Jane said, "Read the article." The short article reported the fatal car crash of a prominent FBI attorney working in DC.

Lisbon handed it back. Neutrally, "Don't know the name."

Quietly, "Bret did more than ID the Blake operative."

"This is – _was_ – the high up Blake mole?" Jane nodded. "A-n-d, you don't think it was an accident."

"No."

"You didn't know Stiles would do this, right?"

Jane breathed in and exhaled slowly. "No. Must have had his own reasons." Jane tossed the missive in the trash and reseated himself heavily on the couch. He cleared his throat. "That was the last loose thread. Solve whatever it is from his past and Abbott can move up."

Lisbon shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "We should do something. Even if he was Blake, that crash was probably murder."

Jane spread his hands. "Based on what?"

Lisbon grimaced. "True. Nothing but speculation."

~.~.~.~

The morning calm ended with invasion, theft, and murder at the Hennigan Gallery in Dallas. Abbott convened a meeting in the fishbowl with Pike's art squad and Tork's team plus Fischer. Pike and his team had been tracking a string of art thefts with a similar MO across the Southwest.

"Pike, you start."

"Art theft used to be sneaky – quiet, under cover of darkness. This is the same, dangerous MO we've seen for six jobs from Phoenix to Dallas in the past two years. Sudden daytime break-in, often with a vehicle. First murder, though."

Fischer asked, "What's the value of the stolen goods?

Grimly, "One-hundred million plus for the six jobs."

Tork, "What've we got to go on?"

"A partial print from a glove found outside after a heist with this MO." He brought up a photo on the room monitor. "Aaron Pulaski's print. He did time at Folsom for armed robbery and battery. Was the prison's middle-weight boxing champ."

Lisbon spoke up, "But you can't make a strong connection to the actual crimes – just the glove found nearby?"

Pike nodded. "That's right. We tried, but not enough to even get a warrant."

Abbott asked, "What's your plan?"

"Tail Pulaski till he makes contact with the gang leader."

Jane thought aloud, "Just six heists in 24 months. You could be waiting a long time."

"We might," Pike acknowledged. "Had to drop the tail last time to work other cases."

Abbott spoke again, "Yet you want do it again. Why?"

"The gang just did this job. They have to get paid, which means someone somewhere has to make contact. Pulaski hangs out at the 6th Street bar in Dallas. It's our best bet."

Jane asked, "What if I could bring them to us?"

Pike frowned. "I don't want to lose this opportunity and have to wait for another heist."

Abbott gathered his paperwork together. "Your case, your call, Pike. Tork, your group plus Fischer will provide assistance as needed. Pike's acting SA while I'm out for the rest of the week. Get to work, agents." He left.

The others stirred. Jane cocked his head and said, "I can wrap this up in a week."

Pike's reply was loud in the sudden silence, "We'll do it my way."

Jane gave a mocking salute and sauntered out.

Dallas was just three hours away. The art squad handled day and evening surveillance. Tork had Lisbon and Fischer cover the midnight-to-dawn shift while he, Wylie and Jane worked and quickly solved another case in Austin. They learned Pulaski's routine, including his habit of bedding a different hooker every day or two.

**FBI, Austin, Monday**

The art squad and Tork's group were back in the conference room, except for two art squad agents in Dallas still tailing Pulaski. Jane sat between Wylie and Lisbon, closest to the door. Incongruously, there was a pile of store shopping bags in the nearest corner.

Abbott, "It's been a week. Progress?"

"I've had Pulaski under 24-hour surveillance, but nothing yet. He has no job, no visible means of support. But we haven't uncovered links to anyone remotely connected to art theft."

"Financial records, electronic sweeps of his phone calls?"

Pike exhaled in frustration. "Nothing revealing. Big payoffs from the heists must be in accounts we haven't ID'd yet. His calls are all from burner phones. Even when we've picked out his calls, there's nothing incriminating."

Wylie nodded confirmation. "Burner phones, so no account names. And if he is talking to the thieves, they're using code words."

Abbott, "Any of the stolen art surface?"

Evanson from the art squad replied, "Not yet. They're sitting on it or selling it privately."

Leaning back in his chair Jane drawled, "I said I could wrap it up in a week if–"

Pike interrupted, "And _I_ decided to follow standard FBI methods which–"

"–which haven't gotten you anywhere in two years," Jane countered, soft tone belying the cutting point.

Abbott rumbled mildly, "Why won't Jane's idea work, Pike?"

Pike took a breath but didn't answer. Lisbon had a moment of deja vu. _Just like Bosco. Won't even listen before deep sixing it._ The silence weighed heavily.

Abbott, "Jane, what is your idea?"

"My plan is a little more elaborate, but _much_ more entertaining.* First we rope him in with some flash. Then we steer him towards a couple of good inside men, a face. We're going to need some art for the gaff, and then a good false blow off."*

Pike frowned. "See? What does that even mean?"

Amused, "I'm sure Mr. Jane will enlighten us." Fully facing Jane, "Won't you?" The 'put-up-or-shut-up' challenge was plain.

Jane smiled, "First a question, Abbott. You could fake a good boxing brawl, right?"

"How did you– Yes, I could," he answered, puzzled.

Wider smile, "Great, great. You'd need an opponent..." He made a show of scrutinizing Tork and each man in the art squad, rejecting them one by one while regretfully shaking his head. He snapped his fingers. "Cho! He'll be in Texas for the movers. He can do it." Jane rose, gaze steady on Abbott's face, "Right now, I have to leave. I'm meeting with Bill Peterson's man about using a Dallas house the DEA seized from a drug lord. But," he raised his hand to forestall objections, "Wylie will ably brief you from my notes." He ducked out before anyone could say anything.

Abbott exhaled slowly, obviously setting aside irritation. Expressionless, "Wylie?"

Wylie took a deep breath, coloring a little with all eyes upon him. "We want the leader of the gang, the one who shot John Hennigan. To find him, we need to gain the trust of Pulaski. So, we know he likes to spend time at his favorite bar. That's where we rope him. We need to plant some bugs and cameras in the bar–"*

"-Why?" asked Tork.

"So I can monitor it* from our field office in Dallas." Glancing at Abbott, "You're our roper.* Jane said you'd know about boxing–"

"I never mentioned it before but, yes, I do."

"So does Pulaski. That's a good place to start."* Uncertainly, "I've got some tips for you if you, uh..."* He rushed on at Abbott's frown, "-But you probably know what you are doing."* Wylie gave one of the shopping bags to Abbott. "Jane said you'll need these." Abbott pulled out some clothes. "–So uh, I guess Cho will be the 'muscle'* – your opponent."

Abbott, "If he's available."

Wylie shrugged uncomfortably, "Jane kinda said he would be. You and Cho need to work out the, uh, the choreography." Abbott nodded for him to go on.

"Lisbon is playing the inside man – uh, woman – the inside woman with Jane. He wants you to wear this."* Lisbon held up a dress from the bag Wylie gave her. She blinked – her turn for combined amusement and annoyance. She said nothing, already aware of the broad outlines of Jane's plan.

Fischer glanced at the sexy, expensive dress and grinned, "Yowza!"*

Wylie handed a bag to Fischer. "This is for you."*

"Oh." Fischer's dress was a sleek, tight leopard-print sheath. Although Lisbon's dress was sexy, Fischer's dress was unabashedly provocative, arousing.

Wylie continued from his notes. "You're the 'face.' Once Pulaski is at the party,"* the art squad exchanged glances and a muttered 'party?' "you lure him into the bedroom. Uh, Jane's got some ideas."*

Thoroughly amused, "Yeah, thanks. I think I've got it under control," dismissed Fischer. Wylie blushed a deeper red.

Wylie swallowed. "Then Jane and Lisbon take over."*

Abbott, "And then what happens?"*

"Uh – 'And then the fun really starts.' That's a direct quote."*

Abbott straightened his papers and tapped the file folder on the table. "Agents, we'll give it a try. Jane will either succeed or go down in flames, won't he?" The group filed out, art squad agents talking heatedly among themselves. Tork said nothing as he stomped off to get lunch.

Jane hadn't returned when Lisbon bumped into Pike in the break room later. She nodded. "Pike."

The dark, handsome senior agent turned a warm gaze on her, "Yes?"

"I, uh, that is Jane and I will need to go through the recovered art you have in storage for the operation. Maybe later today?"

Neutrally, "All right. Give me a call."

She hesitated then added, "Jane's approach is definitely...different, but his schemes usually work out."

His lips tightened. "You have more confidence than I do."

She nodded, stirring her coffee. "It took a lot of years."

"I bet."

She swallowed, "The art squad couldn't be used because Pulaski may have noticed your men tailing him."

Puzzled, "So?"

Awkwardly, "Well, so it wasn't just a put-down. There's a pay-off for putting up with it all."

Pike sipped his coffee and took a moment to reply. "Teresa, I appreciate your comments. But Jane elbowed his way into my case, my area of specialty to propose some half-assed scam. I'm putting up with it because Abbott is forcing me to. –You're a helluva agent and I really don't know how you stand this crap." He nodded. "Nice talkin' to you," and left.

Jane appeared at Lisbon's desk hours later, startling her.

"Dammit, Jane! Stop creeping up on me."

He handed her a take-out gourmet coffee. "No creeping. Carpeting."

She glared but was mollified by the heavenly scent when she removed the lid. "I told Pike we'd stop by later to ID the art we need. I need to call before quitting time."

They made their way to the locked storage room in the FBI basement level. Pike unlocked the door and flicked the light switch. Jane slowly turned in a circle with a delighted smile. Lisbon and Pike walked down the several aisles of shelving. Lisbon marveled at the sheer quantity, as well as occasionally noticing paintings and sculptures and objets d'art for which she actually knew the artist. Pike described in detail a few pieces she found interesting.

"Pike, this is just what I need. What do we have to do to use it for the operation?"

The momentary frown vanished as Pike turned to talk with him. "These are all stolen pieces. We keep some recovered art in hopes more will surface from various heists. We can use anything here, so long as it's accounted for and not damaged."

Jane looked at him intently, "I'll need several that art thieves would readily recognize as stolen. A few need to be expensive – hundred thou or more." Pike walked around, showing Jane paintings and objects that might meet his requirements. Jane asked questions, surprising Pike with his knowledge several times. In turn, Jane drank down every fact and perspective Pike shared. Lisbon stood back, a slight smile on her face. Despite Pike's irritation and notwithstanding Jane's antipathy and scheming to get free of the FBI, both men genuinely respected knowledge. Lisbon knew Jane would extract every iota of Pike's knowledge about the items to be used. She swallowed at the sobering thought, _Of course, it'd be really bad news if Jane gets something wrong around the leader. Not just thieves, killers._

Pike got off on his floor leaving Lisbon and Jane to ride up to theirs.

Quitting time, Lisbon gathered her things from her desk. She asked, "What'd you find in Dallas?" as they walked toward the elevator.

Enthusiastically, "Great house. Beautiful, modern. –We're in the wrong business, Lisbon," thinking of the drug trade that bought such a place.

She eyed him curiously, "Your Malibu house was all that and more. You want another?"

Jane waited till the elevator doors closed and ensured their privacy. "It's pretty, but cold. I'm thinking of something more homey for us – a home, not a showplace."

Her heart gave a glad thump at the "us." "Homey's good. I'm not much for the grand image."

"So it shall be." His answer was rewarded by her wide smile.

Lisbon's night-shift surveillance had disrupted their morning routine and they'd driven in separately. Neither noticed Pike watching them as they drove off in two cars. After Abbott's decision, just a few agents from Pike's squad would keep track of Pulaski. Tork's team would stay in Austin till Jane's plan was ready to roll.

At home, Lisbon used the connecting door to join Jane in his apartment. They busied themselves warming leftovers for dinner.

"Tell me more about what you found."

"Told you. Perfect house for the con. Striking, expensive. It _looks_ like a place an art thief would live."

"A-n-d?"

He tipped his head. "One of Peterson's agents took me around to places the DEA had seized. This was the best. I was hoping to spend time with Peterson himself, but no such luck."

"You were reading Abbott in the fishbowl."

He nodded as he put their plates on the table. "Confirmation. Abbott reacted and not in a positive way."

"Abbott won't talk about anything bad in his past. If you can't pump Peterson–"

He smiled. "Fortunately, the agent was quite garrulous. Abbott worked for Peterson early in his career as a border agent. Nothing solid, but plenty of hints that there were some tough situations. Fertile ground for more digging."

"How?"

"Want to search newspapers and law enforcement publications for anything Abbott might have been involved with back then."

Her forehead wrinkled in distress. "Jane, you _can't_ have Wylie investigating his SA!"

Soothingly, "Of course not. But Grace can."

"Okay. Oh – and what's this about Cho helping with this op?"

"Already checked. He'll be in town Friday to oversee his move. He's technically still on vacation from the Austin office. Said he'd be happy to mock up a brawl with Abbott." With a mischievous smile, "He'll probably enjoy it."

Slowly, "Jane, I know your plan is to annoy everyone till they let you out of your agreement–"

Motioning with a forkful of food, "-No, just modify it."

"–but Pike's not a jerk, not incompetent."

Jane leaned back and cocked his head. "Never said he is. Cold feet?"

She sighed. "I hate the public humiliation. Even Tork."

Coolly, "As with any good con, I'm letting them do it to themselves. _Pike and Tork_ are the ones unwilling to listen to better ideas."

"Jane, it took me _years_ to get used to–"

"-I don't expect them to take my word. _We _rounded up the Blake leaders. _We_ were right about Markham. _They know your team closed every case for ten years!_"

"But–"

He leaned forward. Intensely, "Teresa, I've never been able to color inside the lines. I can't not see things, can't un-read people. I _might_ be able to manage four more years under Abbott. He's smart and is beginning to come around. Pike doesn't have the imagination. Tork is even worse."

"How much longer do you think?"

"Soon as I find out about Abbott and solve that problem." At her raised eyebrows, "Weeks, not months."

"Okay."

Sex that night was tinged with desperation for her and extra intensity for him.

**Dallas, Friday**

They chose Friday night for the operation, when a bar fight and party were ordinary occurrences that helped humanity blow off stress from the workweek. Everyone needed for the operation was now in Dallas, with the field office serving as their temporary headquarters.

Fortunately, Jane deemed the existing furnishings in the party house useable for the operation. The artwork had been delivered and staged days ago. _Everything _in the house had to be consistent with the residence of high-end art thieves since the slightest doubt in Pulaski's mind would undermine the operation or worse. Already early evening, Jane was at the party house checking last details. Supplies – everything from refrigerated, frozen and canned food, to cookware, to paper products, to laundry detergent, to towels and bedding, to spare clothes, to toiletries had been delivered to convincingly stage the house. Two dozen agents were carefully selected by Jane to pose as party goers. Others were assigned to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

Abbott and Cho had left for the bar in separate cars. Abbott didn't mind in the least driving the flashy, high octane muscle car required for his role.

Pike uneasily wandered around the 5th floor where the team was getting ready. Neither Lisbon nor Fischer was willing to dress at the house where there were cameras all over. Their work clothes wouldn't suit the image anyhow should Pulaski somehow discover them.

Pike caught sight of Lisbon first. He smiled in appreciation. "You look great, Lisbon."

She grimaced a little. "Uh, thanks. These heels are killing me, and I didn't dare eat dinner or I wouldn't be able to breathe in this straightjacket." She wriggled, trying to get the dress to lie more comfortably. Pike blinked and swallowed.

Pike shook his head. "It's for a good cause." His eyes trailed her as she walked away.

He turned his head at the soft click of the women's room door as Fischer emerged. He blinked again. His reaction was different, but no less powerful. He'd never suspected Fischer could look like sex incarnate. The leopard print dress clung perfectly. He wondered for a moment how Jane knew it would. "Looking good, Fischer."

"Thanks," she smiled. Her smile was definitely not regulation FBI professional. Pike turned away lest he embarrass himself. Wylie was checking out the video and audio from the cameras placed at the 6th Street bar and at the party house.

"Wylie, I'm going to raid the vending machines. Want anything?"

"Coke and an apple," he replied distractedly.

When Pike returned, the IT specialist was working on a computer at another desk, trying to work out a problem with the audio and video feed from the party house. As Pike set down Wylie's Coke and apple, his attention was caught by Lisbon and Jane at the house. No audio but the video was perfect. Pike wrinkled his nose at the foppish scarf Jane wore till he was again captivated by the sight of Agent Lisbon. He straightened and frowned. Jane had his arm around her waist, facing her only centimeters apart. She frowned while speaking to Jane, then pushed away with both hands against his chest. A moment of tension. Jane let her go, hands half-raised. She disappeared from view. Jane exhaled deeply and walked off.

"Anything?" Wylie asked, startling Pike from the little on-screen drama.

"Uh. No, no."

Wylie entered a few keystrokes and sound suddenly was added to the pictures. "Got it!" Wylie grinned up at Pike. "All set. Let the con – um, _operation_ begin."


	40. Chapter 40 - Violets

**Chapter 40: Violets**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted verbatim from The Mentalist _Violets_ episode script.

**Party House, Dallas, Early Evening**

Jane paused in the living room, mentally going over preparations for conning Pulaski and, with luck, the leader of the art theft gang. Hyped for the con, his head whipped around when the front door suddenly opened.

Lisbon closed the door and turned. Her dress swung sensuously around legs that went on forever atop dangerously high heels. "Hey, Jane. Here I am, teetering around and barely able to breathe-"

"-You're gorgeous!" His smile broke like sunrise, eyes dark as his gaze raked her head to toe.

She swallowed. Thrown off grumbling, she said softly, "Yeah, it is a beautiful dress."

He took two quick steps and clasped her waist. "Not the dress, _you_." Jane indulged momentarily in the fantasy it was their real home, a real party with them together. He murmured, "Knew it would do you justice."

She put her hands lightly against his chest. "Hey! We're at work, remember?"

His smile dimmed but he didn't let go. "No one else here," and leaned closer for a kiss.

She frowned and pushed harder, "You don't know that! Cameras. Fischer."

He grimaced and reluctantly let go, spreading his hands palms out in surrender. "Killjoy."

Lisbon stepped back and tugged her dress down. In command voice, "Jane, _focus_. Work first, play later." She pivoted and left to check out the catered refreshments.

He sighed and shook his head to clear it. He took the stairs two at a time to reexamine the bedroom art safe. Anticipation and adrenaline would keep him jazzed till the action began. He was looking forward to this, confident but alert to the inevitable unknowns.

Fischer entered moments later and joined Lisbon in the kitchen. The other agents would begin arriving shortly to pose as party guests and servers. Fischer was a little surprised at how natural conducting an elaborate sting had become after a year of working alongside Jane. She pushed aside thoughts of past mistakes, determined to keep learning from the duo's fascinating approach to law enforcement.

**FBI, Dallas, Friday Night**

Wylie closely monitored the 6th Street bar scene. Cho was already in place playing pool in the back. Abbott appeared shortly and took a bar stool near Pulaski. They couldn't hear much dialog over the ambient noise and the boxing match on the bar TV. Wylie's admiration for his SA grew as Abbott subtly rubbed shoulders with their mark. When Pike expressed interest, Wylie narrated each sign that Pulaski was letting down his guard and enjoying Abbott's company. Though Wylie was fast on the uptake, it had taken a year of Jane's patient tutoring to begin learning the silent body language in which Jane was so fluent. He was gratified he could pick out some of the signs – now that Jane told him what to look for.

As the evening wore on, Wylie's focus remained on the bar. He occasionally checked the party house to be sure it was coming together as it should. Pike returned from the men's room while Wylie's attention was on the house. They paid only cursory attention to agents posing as guests.

Fischer, Jane and then Lisbon appeared and called for attention to brief the others. The other agents were warned to keep their conversation light and general once Pulaski arrived. Pulaski's photo was passed around. (Jane put it put down the garbage disposal after the briefing.) Obviously, nothing could suggest any connection to law enforcement. Lisbon identified Fischer and Jane for their major roles in the operation. Jane then gave them a brief summary of his, Lisbon, Fischer and Abbott's cover stories. Everyone else was to pretend to be casual acquaintances of a few months since Lisbon and Jane had appeared in Dallas. He reinforced the need to avoid acting like cops, although Lisbon amended that to allow them to act if murder or serious injury seemed imminent. Jane braved Lisbon's annoyance and reiterated, "No cops!" and ended with, "And enjoy yourselves. Fun on the FBI's dime." Party-goers were to start leaving around midnight to clear the stage for their target to appear.

Wylie was several hours into the evening of monitoring Abbott and Pulaski. Though the interaction was unfolding as intended, watching two guys having a few drinks and shooting the breeze was anything but riveting.

"Wylie?" Pike asked, seated just behind Wylie's chair.

"Yeah?" not turning from the screen.

"What's the deal with Lisbon and Jane?"

"What do you mean?" stalled Wylie.

"They together? A couple?"

Wylie carefully avoided looking at Pike. "Um, Lisbon was Jane's first demand when Abbott got him to return to the US." Wylie felt safe repeating that bit of common knowledge around the Austin office.

"So they're a couple?"

Wylie said precisely, "I used to think so. Can't really say, though," pleased to duck the question without actually lying.

"Ah."

Suddenly, "Look! Cho!"

Both leaned in as Cho picked a fight with Pulaski and then Abbott. Wylie jerked and ducked, unconsciously mimicking Cho. A few exciting moments later Cho was on the floor. Cho pulled a gun. Abbott and Pulaski fled.

"Wow!"

"Hot damn. Looked real," Pike seconded admiringly.

Wylie, swivelled around in his chair, grin threatening to split his face.

They could still hear muffled conversation from the open cell phone Abbott carried. That was a precaution since it was too dangerous to wear a wire. A few minutes ticked by without anything alarming so Wylie muted the bar audio and switched focus to the party monitor. The screen was split eight ways to capture images from the strategically located cameras: Foyer, living room, kitchen, back door, sliding door to the pool, and one in each of the three bedrooms upstairs. Abbott's feed was suddenly quieter and Wylie heard Abbott say, "Got a great party to go to" with an indistinct reply.

"They should arrive in ten minutes."

Pike snorted and said with a hint of envy, "Abbott's car could get them there in five."

Wylie turned on the audio to Jane's in-ear receiver. The tiny electronics device was invisible without an otoscope. They did without a mic since even the extremely miniaturized ones could be found with a thorough body search. "Jane, nod if you hear me." Jane's gaze flicked to the living room camera and he nodded. "Abbott and Pulaski left the bar three minutes ago, should be there in seven. I'm set on this end with eyes all over. I'll let you know if someone crashes your party."

Cho silently appeared behind Pike and Wylie, absently rubbing the knuckles on his right hand. "How's it going?"

"Cho! You were great!" Wylie gushed. After a moment, "Abbott, too."

Cho nodded. "Pulaski buy it?"

"On their way now." Wylie rose and pulled off the headset. "I need to make a pit stop while I have a chance." He hurried away.

Cho dropped down in a side chair and shook out his arms after the fake-but-demanding brawl.

Pike looked at him with a small smile. "You've got a groupie there, Cho."

Cho looked over, startled out of his wool-gathering. "Huh?"

"Wylie."

"Oh. I know." Changing the subject, "Where are the art squad agents?"

"Tork and my team are stationed near the house. My guys were tailing Pulaski so we didn't want to use them inside in case Pulaski made them." He rubbed his chin, "More agents in that house than this building. But Abbott wanted to be safe since the party 'guests' aren't armed."

"Abbott, not Jane?"

"Mmhm."

"What comes after the party?"

"Jane expects the leader of the gang to show up, maybe tonight. Strike a deal. Then tomorrow he somehow expects the guy to lead him to his stash of stolen art, so we can put him at the scene of the murder. Not quite sure how, but Fischer had to arrange a parade and Wylie's gonna drive a taxi that picks the guy up." He added defensively, "Wylie's a techie not a field agent, but we ran out of new faces." Cho imperceptibly frowned.

Cho replied, "It's Jane," as though that explained everything. "Jane'll be with the gang leader alone?"

"Agent Lisbon's posing as his partner."

Cho blinked at that. _Posing? _After a moment Cho asked, "Tork? Richard Tork?"

"Yeah, he's been filling in for you from the Phoenix office."

Cho said noncommitally, "Small world."

Pike looked puzzled. "You're in California permanently, right?" wanting to be sure.

"Here for my movers. Jane's just using me for his scam."

"Yeah, he does that," tone more barbed than the words.

Wylie reappeared and donned his gear. "Curtain coming up on act two."

**Party House, Dallas, Late Evening**

Lisbon opened the door. "Dennis, you wicked man. Where have you been?"* she teased with a kiss to his cheek. "And who is this handsome brute?"* she asked, eyeing the unfamiliar arrival.

"Teresa, this is my good friend Aaron."*

""Fabulous to meet you, Aaron,"* she smiled. "Any friend of Dennis. Come on in."* Jane appeared and greeted the arrivals and exchanged pleasantries before leaving Pulaski to enjoy the party.

Monitoring from the FBI, Cho, Pike and Wylie watched Jane's drama unfold according to script. Lisbon flirted and charmed her way through the evening, thoroughly owning her role. It was something she'd never have been comfortable doing pre-Jane. Jane ... was Jane. He _became_ a credible art thief with nothing more than the affectation of a scarf and absence of a vest. Cho reflected on how far they'd come since Jane showed up on CBI's doorstep like a battered feral cat.

Fischer surprised Cho as she shamelessly flaunted her sexuality around Pulaski. Judging by their open-mouthed stares, Pike and Wylie were floored too. Sensuality surrounded her like perfume. After a few minutes of conversation, she drew Aaron Pulaski up the stairs with a single glance over her shoulder. Wylie hit a key to enlarge the picture from the master bedroom camera. Away from the party music, audio was suddenly clear. Uncomfortable watching, they watched anyhow.

Pulaski caught up with her in the darkened master bedroom and grabbed her upper arm.

"Wow. –Hey, slow down there, cowboy."* She lightly pushed him off onto the bed.

"What's the matter, baby?* You're smokin' hot.*" He pulled her down to him. "Com'mere."

Jane interrupted from the doorway. "When I said, 'Make yourselves at home,'" as he turned on a light, "that's not exactly what I meant. That's – that's _my bed._"*

Tearing himself away, "Sorry man. You see a chance like this, you take it."* Pulaski got up to face his host.

Chidingly, "Kim, really?! You have no self-control. –Out!"*

Sulking, "Sorry, boss."*

"Anything that moves,"* he disapproved as she left.

Pulaski looked around and stopped dead. "What the hell. –Is that a Van Gogh?!"*

"I'd _never_ have pegged you as an art lover. -It's a fake."*

Pulaski moved from object to object. "All of it?"*

Regretfully, "Yeah, afraid so. I couldn't afford them if they were real."*

"What is it that you do? I mean, for money?"*

"Software."*

"Software?! I haven't seen a computer in your whole house."*

"Never take your work home with you. Key to a happy life,"* Jane chuckled. "Let's go downstairs and have some fun."*

At the FBI, the three men watched Jane shepherd Pulaski back to the party. Fischer was nowhere in sight. Wylie tracked Pulaski to the deserted kitchen and listened in.

After checking he was alone, Pulaski pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. "Hey, it's Pulaski. I think I found something. ... Nope. You're gonna want to see this yourself..."*

At the FBI, Wylie said quietly into the mic for Jane's and Lisbon's receivers, "Heads up. Pulaski made a call. A-n-d he just unlocked the sliding doors." Jane's grin looked like benign pleasure at a successful party.

Midnight came and went. Gradually so did the guests. True to her role, Lisbon walked from room to room, collecting the more egregious party debris and verifying the rooms were empty. Mounting the stairs, she called, "Patrick? You up there? Everyone's gone." She entered the master bedroom and found a stranger gazing at a painting. "I'm sorry. The party's over,"* she said with just the right amount of regret.

The man pivoted sharply. "Where did you get this painting?"*

"My boyfriend will know. He's on his way up."*

**FBI, Dallas**

The four agents eagerly watched the monitor as events unfolded in the master bedroom.

Abbott walked in, having dropping Pulaski back at his car after the party. "Got a nibble?"

Wylie, "Yep. This guy came in the door Pulaski unlocked. Hid in a bathroom till now."

"We got a name?"*

"I'm working on it,"* the tech answered. He captured an image of the stranger's face, applied facial recognition software, and ran it against law-enforcement and other databases.

**Party House, Dallas**

Jane entered the bedroom. "Oh! I keep finding strangers in my bedroom. Guess it was a good party. –You all right, Teresa?"*

"I am now that you're here. He wants to know about the painting."*

"It is a fake."*

The stranger turned a sharp glance on the foppish host. "Ah, no it isn't. It's the real McCoy. It was stolen two years ago."*

"Really?!"*

"Yeah. So – what's the deal?"*

"Uh, I don't know that we've met. I'm Patrick."* Jane extended his hand, then let it drop when the stranger declined to shake. "...And this is Teresa."*

Lisbon smiled, "Hi."*

"MacKaye."*

**FBI, Dallas**

Wylie keyed in the name and read from the results of his searches. "Edwin MacKaye, a Dallas resident, business owner. He owns some local restaurants, fast food joints, that kind of thing."*

Abbott commented while keeping an eye on events at the house. "Cash businesses. That's good for money laundering."*

Cho asked, "Criminal record?"*

Wylie, "No, he's clean. Ex-military. –Oh, and look, a minor in art history."*

Abbott rumbled his satisfaction, "That's our boy. If Jane's theory is right, he should be the leader of the gang, which means he's the one that killed Hennigan."*

Pike snorted. A welter of expressions flew across his face: Satisfaction, puzzlement, envy, appreciation, dislike. Jane had flushed out the gang leader against the odds all right, but only after being an ass by throwing down the challenge in public.

Cho, bluntly, "How do we keep Jane and Lisbon safe?"

Abbott faced him with a frown. "Lisbon's armed." He amended, "Her piece is in the house." He waved at Wylie, "We're monitoring everything," then nodded at Pike, "And we have agents stationed outside in constant contact with us here."

Cho nodded. "I'd like to stay till the arrest."

Abbott shrugged. "The more the merrier," and turned back to the monitor.

**Party House, Dallas**

MacKaye, "Okay, cut the cute stuff. You stole these. It's what you do. –I mean, these are all stolen."*

Lisbon asked tentatively, "How do you know so much about it? Are you a cop?"*

Standing next to Lisbon, Jane looked from MacKaye to her and smiled. "Oh, don't you get it? This gentleman's one of us."*

Doubtfully, "He doesn't _look_ like one of us."*

"No-o-o, he's a heavy. A shooter."*

Tiring of their chatter, MacKaye said curtly, "I'm direct. And you're one of those grifter types, huh? You prefer tricks?"*

Lisbon acknowledged, "You could say that."* The danger and challenge implied by Jane's wide smile would be missed by anyone who didn't know him well.

MacKaye plowed on, "Never saw a trick that could beat a bullet."*

Jane, mildly, "Well, it's always nice to get tips from the competition."*

"I don't have competition. See, Texas is _my_ territory. You've gotta go someplace else. I hear Miami's hot."*

Jane mocked, "Are you saying, 'This town ain't big enough for the two of us'?"*

MacKaye smiled, "Yeah," and moved closer to Jane with unmistakable threat. "I'm not playing with you."*

"Oh, I get it. But I think you're a businessman. Now, you can try to run us out of town. Or maybe you can stop and think about what brought us to town."*

"You got a job planned?"*

"Big one."*

MacKaye guessed, "The Vermeer at the DMA?"*

"Lousy escape routes."* Lisbon thought, _Jane was busy when he was in Dallas_.

"Hmph. –The Hearst sculpture?"* he hazarded, referring to the traveling exhibit from the William Hearst collection.

"Too heavy."*

MacKaye snapped his fingers, "Violets!"*

"Give the man a cigar. He's a sharp one."* A frisson of fear ran through Lisbon. Jane kept pushing and pushing MacKaye, a man who didn't strike her as having a sense of humor, much less tolerance for con men.

Curiosity satisfied, MacKaye reiterated, "Well, I guess you've got three options. You can cut me in on the job. You can get out of town – _tonight_. Or, I just hurt the two of you badly. What do you think?"*

Sarcastically without fear, "Y'know, you should have been a salesman."* He turned to Lisbon. "What do you think, darling? Are we going to cut this thug in on our plan?"*

Equally cool, "It's better than him hurting us badly."*

Jane turned to MacKaye, smiled and again extended his hand. "Welcome to the team."* This time MacKaye took it.

Lisbon and Jane escorted MacKaye to the door, bolting it after he left. Then they checked the other ground floor doors and windows. Back in the living room, Jane sank onto the couch with his head back and eyes closed.

"Hey, Jane. Working perfectly so far."

He sighed without opening his eyes. "Yeah, so far so good. MacKaye's greedy. Think he'll act tomorrow."

"I'll get the lights. Time to turn in," she said, pulling off first one high heel then the other and placing them on the stairs. She flexed her sore feet and wiggled her toes as she made the rounds turning off lights.

She turned off the living room lights with a remote before noticing Jane had simply leaned over to lie on the couch instead of going upstairs.

Quietly, "Jane, wake up. Come on, you'll sleep better in a bed." She shook his shoulder gently but he was dead to the world. She'd seen this many times. Jane was hyped during one of his schemes, only to crash once the action was over and the adrenaline wore off. She brushed his hair aside and kissed his forehead. She spread the throw over him and wearily made her way upstairs, torturous heels in hand.

She called in to wrap up the night's operation, putting it on speaker phone while she removed earrings and other jewelry.

"It's Pike."* Abbott, Wylie, and Cho had left to find dinner. Pike volunteered to stay till Lisbon or Jane reported in.

"Hey, it's Lisbon. I'm just checking in before I go to bed."*

"Oh, well we shut down the inside cameras so you don't have to worry about any more prying eyes. And just so yo know, there is someone outside the house. We're guessing it's another one of MacKaye's crew."*

She smiled tiredly and said wryly, "Well, that's going to make me sleep better."*

"No, we've got eyes on him. Don't worry. You're safe." Voice a bit warmer, "I wouldn't lie to you."*

"That's a nice change of pace. I feel like everything I've done today is a lie."*

"Well, you were, uh, ... you were real good."*

"I learned from the best."* Her stomach rumbled embarrassingly and she remembered she hadn't eaten before the op – had even joked about it with Pike. "I'm starving and there's nothing to eat in this house."* She thought about left over hors d'oeuvres and amended, "Mainly rumaki, I think. Seems everyone hates chicken liver."

"Well, that's a shame. There's a pretty good diner just down the street from you. Biscuits and gravy if that's your thing."*

She grimaced, glad there was no more video. "Not really."*

"All right, what about pancakes?"*

"I could go for some pancakes!"*

"They have about six kinds – chocolate chip, banana... All that good stuff."*

"Now you're just trying to torture me."*

"Maybe. Just a little bit. –I could have some sent to you."*

"You said there's a guy watching the house, remember?"*

"Yeah. I won't tease you anymore. I won't even mention the waffles."*

Her stomach rumbled again. "I'm going to go downstairs and see if there's some canapes left from the party* – anything other than rumaki."

"All right, well, I don't know what a canape is* _or_ a rumaki," Pike said with a smile in his voice. "But bon appetit. Good night, Lisbon."*

"Good night."*

Deciding she'd shower in the morning, Lisbon settled for washing off the make-up and changing into pajamas. Even off, all the cameras made her uncomfortable. She then tiptoed downstairs to scrounge for left-over appetizers that didn't involve liver. Pleasantly gabbing with Pike had been calming after a long evening pretending to be the girlfriend of a thief and grifter and then jousting with MacKaye. _Nope, just partner of an ex-con man who's the best detective I'll likely ever know._

When done in the kitchen she made her way back through the darkened house. Jane hadn't eaten either but he was still asleep. After years and years of insomnia, she let him sleep. Anyhow, she felt it would be weird sleeping in the same bed while still technically on the job. She kissed his cheek and went upstairs to brush her teeth and turn in. Tomorrow promised to be exciting.


	41. Chapter 41 - A Few Gifts Among Friends

**Chapter 41: A Few Gifts Among Friends**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted verbatim from The Mentalist _Violets_ episode script.

**Party House, Dallas, Saturday Morning**

Light streamed through the transom windows which sat above the drapery-covered tall rectangular windows and sliding glass door to the balcony. Lisbon groaned and turned her head away. Her vibrating cell phone ended any chance of continuing to sleep.

She fumbled for the phone. "Lisbon," disoriented for a moment at the unfamiliar bedroom. _Oh, yeah. Party house._ "...Thanks for the warning, Wylie." She hung up and lay back. A minute later she sat up at the thought that bedroom privacy was over once Wylie turned the cameras back on. She gathered her clothes and hurried into the bathroom . _Jane still asleep?_ It'd wait till she had showered and dressed.

Lisbon pulled the drapes open. She snapped her fingers after almost forgetting to reinsert the receiver into an ear. Then she went downstairs.

**FBI, Dallas**

The team met first thing Saturday morning in the Dallas FBI building. Wylie called Lisbon, booted up a computer to resume monitoring the house and hurried to the meeting room. Crowded into the conference room were Abbott, the art squad minus the two agents watching the house, and Tork's team minus Lisbon and Jane. Cho sat between Fischer and Tork. Abbott opened the meeting.

"Good work yesterday, everyone. You especially, Fischer." She nodded her acknowledgment. "After the party, the art gang leader Edwin MacKaye showed up as Jane expected. MacKaye was unhappy to learn he had competition, but they agreed on a temporary partnership to go after the touring Manet art exhibit."

Having stepped into the operation mid-way, Cho asked, "How will that nail MacKaye for murder?"

"Several pieces used in staging the house are worth six figures. Disabling a home security system is easy compared to hitting the exhibit. Jane thinks the bait is irresistible. MacKaye robs the house. Various diversions will allow MacKaye to believe he's gotten away while herding him to a taxi manned by Wylie. MacKaye goes to his stash of stolen art to drop off the new pieces. Any art from the Hennigan Gallery links him to the murder."

Cho again, "Time line?"

Pike answered uneasily. "Approximate. While MacKaye cases the Manet exhibit with Lisbon and Jane, we expect his team to B-and-E only to find the art is in a safe. Don't know how long MacKaye stays away. Don't know when he returns to force them to open the safe. The time line on the handout starts when MacKaye escapes."

"Why not let them take the art without putting people at risk? Just tail them."

Abbott answered that one. "For all we know, the gang's regular MO involves leaving the art in a moving van or storing it out of town. We need to disrupt their plan – separate MacKaye from his team yet leave him with valuable art he needs to hide. MacKaye lives in Dallas, has businesses here. We're betting he has art hidden here too."

Cho fell silent. It was much too late to change the plan. It felt more and more like the dangerous early days with Jane. Only now he worried more about the team than Jane. He actively wished Rigsby and Van Pelt were working the case instead of Pike, Tork and unfamiliar agents.

Abbott confirmed each agent's responsibility. "Pike you're stationed here. You monitor the house and issue instructions in case of unexpected contingencies. You're liaison with the EMT's if we need an ambulance." Pike nodded.

Abbott continued. "Fischer, make sure the parade is teed up as soon as MacKaye escapes. The parade must block Sagebrush Drive between 9th and 11th Streets so MacKaye doesn't try to go around."

He turned to Wylie. "Wylie, you be ready to pick up MacKaye after the parade blocks him. Be sure the taxi's tracking gear works. Tork's group follows till you drop off MacKaye. With luck, that will be where MacKaye hides stolen art." Wylie grinned at the prospect of field work.

He faced Tork next. "You form a loose perimeter with the art squad. Follow MacKaye out of sight so you're ready when he leads us to the art. You set up to talk to Wylie and your group?" Tork nodded.

Abbott looked back at Cho. "Cho, you're with me. The biggest risk is when Lisbon and Jane are in that house with MacKaye's team. We disrupt that and split off MacKaye as soon as possible. Pike, patch the house audio to Cho and me once MacKaye and his men enter." He looked around. "Questions? – Okay, let's go catch us a thief and murderer."

The group gathered their things and filed out. Tork smirked and nudged Pike. "Takes a thief to catch a thief." Cho threw them a withering look and didn't step aside till Tork mumbled, "Sorry. Just a saying."

Pike caught up with Wylie to go over the equipment before the tech whiz left. Pike sat down and scanned the house monitors as Wylie reviewed how to switch between cameras, enlarge a particular view, patch audio to field receivers, and use the mic to speak to field agents. A crib sheet listed which receiver was used by each agent. Wylie left. Pike finally took a look at what was _on_ the cameras. Lisbon was up and dressed_. And ... looks like Jane slept on the couch. Huh._ His small smile faded as he turned full attention to preparing for the operation.

**Party House, Dallas**

Lisbon squatted next to the couch and gently shook his shoulder. "Jane, it's morning. Time to get going."

Jane blinked sleepily. Not fully awake, he took her upper arm and pulled her closer for a 'good morning' kiss. Lisbon pulled back. "Cameras are on. C'mon, wake up. Need to get ready before MacKaye shows." Jane sat up with a grunt, place and purpose again at the front of his thoughts. He started to fold the throw.

"I'll do that. You get dressed."

Jane yawned widely, smiled, and headed for the stairs. Time to get his head in the game.

Jane managed to feed them using pancake mix, eggs, and jam he found in the kitchen. Pike checked in with them, making sure their receivers, and the video and audio for every camera were working.

It was mid-morning when they were ready to leave – fashionably late as befit the art theft crowd. There was no reason to put themselves in morning traffic to case an art exhibit.

They stepped outside into brilliant sun. Lisbon reflected that a Saturday morning with weather like this was perfect for a parade – _Good._ She reveled in the simplicity of a sun dress and flats. Jane looked much the same, just with a different suit and scarf. She huffed, _He just dons a scarf while I had that tight dress and heels! Wonder when MacKaye will–ah, speak of the devil!_

Jane smiled as MacKaye pulled up and rolled down the window. "You just love popping up places, don't you?"*

Curtly, "Let's go."*

Lisbon said with an edge, "And good morning to you, too."*

Jane called, "Shotgun,"* and sat next to MacKaye in the passenger seat. Three police cruisers drove by as they pulled out. MacKaye frowned. "It's cool. Just a nearby police station."

The three toured the art exhibit and returned to the SUV. A billboard advertised the exhibit with a picture of the Violets painting. Half turned to look at Lisbon, Jane commented, "Manet painted it as a gift for his brother's wife, his forbidden love. He couldn't express his love to her in words, so he did it in a different way – with a painting. It's worth maybe $100 million if it ever went to auction."*

All business, MacKaye asked, "You have someone who wants it?"*

Lisbon assured him, "We've got a customer lined up."*

"How much?"*

"Five million."*

"Fair enough." To Jane, "Now, you've probably got some, uh, cute little plan to get us in and out, no fuss, no muss, huh?"*

Jane, easily, "Well, I do like to keep my muss to a minimum."*

"I don't do cute. Tricks, cleverness – it's a waste of time."*

Lisbon mildly disagreed, "You'd be surprised."*

"Ah, fast and simple. That's the way to do things."*

"You're the one behind the wheel,* if you think you have a good approach," Jane offered amicably.

MacKaye left them at the house with a promise to be in touch by Sunday. Jane bent over and picked up a tiny piece wood just outside the front door.

"We had visitors," Jane said with satisfaction.

"As expected."

Closing an unnoticeable fragment in the door was a very old trick to warn that someone had been inside. He'd done the same for every ground floor door, regardless of the electronic monitoring. Pike confirmed his conclusion when they entered, and assured them the intruders had left. Jane closed the door without bolting it. MacKaye's team would be back. _When_ was the only question.

Looking over the security system Jane commented, "They're competent. No sign the alarm was reset."

"Sometimes you worry me." Jane gave her a questioning glance. "How you know all this, just what side of legal you lived on way back when."

He shrugged with a grin. "Picked up things even if I didn't, ah, apply that knowledge myself."

She shook her head and went into the kitchen. She returned with two flutes and a half full bottle of champagne which somehow was still effervescent.

"I've driven you to drink already?"

"Just playing the part. –Though this really is good."

"Especially on the FBI's tab."

"Hush."

With time to kill, they sat and talked in the living room. Each took a small sip of the champagne for appearances. Jane assured Lisbon MacKaye's team would be back and probably soon.

"His 'fast and simple' equals greedy and impatient. Thug."

Lisbon was about to reply when Pike warned that four men approached.

Pulaski kicked in the door with a ***BANG!* **Three followed him in.

"Don't move!" Pulaski said loudly. Four guns aimed at Lisbon and Jane.

MacKaye calmly closed the ruined door to avoid notice.

Jane unhurriedly rose and faced them. He held one arm out, open hand showing he was no threat. He sipped the champagne before setting the glass down. "Whoa! Did I miss the doorbell?"* MacKaye motioned him to move away from the sofa. "I guess this ends our partnership." Lisbon remained seated and silent, facing them. Her gun was hidden under a nearby cushion.

"Think you'd put one over on me, hiding the art? Think again."*

Jane sighed. "Common sense. –Though my guests don't usually steal from me."

"Red, Jake, stay with her. If I give the word, kill her.*" Jane's face fell and paled. MacKaye smiled. "Thought so. Soft spot." He motioned to Jane. "Move. You have two minutes to open the safe."

Jane mounted the stairs, followed by MacKaye and Pulaski. Jane flicked the switch that slid back a false wall. He keyed in the code and the safe door swung open. Jane's face revealed nothing when Pike whispered that Jane should nod when he wanted Abbott and Cho to bust in. Pulaski rummaged through the safe while Jane sat slumped on the edge of the bed. MacKaye's gun never wavered.

Pulaski pulled out the most valuable paintings and sculptures. He ran his hands over the artwork then showed MacKaye a handful of minute tracking devices.

"You think I'm stupid?"*

Evenly, "Ask me that question when you don't have a gun."*

MacKaye taunted, "Cutesy electronic bullshit. Doesn't stop bullets, does it?" Jane said nothing.

Pulaski loaded two large duffel bags, one with sculptures, the other with rolled up paintings. "That's the good stuff, Boss."

MacKaye raised his gun. "You know my face, my name. Can't leave-"

"Don't be stupid!" Jane said sharply. MacKaye paused. "A gunshot or breaking glass triggers an alarm at the police station. Cops'll be here in seconds."

MacKaye frowned, then motioned Jane to get up. "We'll just take you two along. Find someplace without alarms."

Pulaski picked up the heavier bag and exited. MacKaye motioned Jane to follow. He picked up the other bag and brought up the rear. Jane nodded when Pulaski reached the first floor.

Abbott and Cho burst in. **"DROP 'EM, HANDS UP!" **The three thieves were suddenly trapped between Abbott and Lisbon.

Cho charged up the stairs. **"DROP IT ****NOW****!"**

MacKaye kicked Jane down the stairs, turned and dashed into the bedroom. Cho untangled himself from Jane, then ran down and out the door. He circled 'round in time to see MacKaye jump from the balcony. Cho sprinted, following him behind the house. MacKaye ran around a corner, ducked into an alley and hid behind a dumpster. He grinned as Cho ran past.

MacKaye loped toward the other end of the alley, only to be stopped as a garbage truck backed in. ***Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...*** He reversed and threaded his way between buildings to Sagebrush. He turned away when he found it blocked by a parade. The next side street was empty except for the taxi slowly cruising in search of a fare. MacKaye hailed the taxi, got in and gave the address. He leaned back, exultant. The duffel bag contained a cool half mil worth of art. He could hire hitmen to get rid of the grifter and his followers – everyone who could identify him. He might not even have to relocate. He paid and tipped the cabbie generously. It was his lucky day.

His luck ran out.

**FBI, Dallas**

Abbott faced Edwin MacKaye in interrogation. Pleasantly, "We don't need you to say anything. We already have the rest of your crew in custody. We have FBI witnesses for armed robbery, assault, kidnapping. We have enough stolen art to start a museum."* He leaned forward, "And best of all, we have the paintings that prove you killed John Hennigan."*

"Lawyer."*

Jane walked in and sat next to Abbott. "'Lawyer.' –Well, um, that is your right."* He snapped his fingers. "Oh, what song was the marching band playing, by the way? Hmm? The marching band that, uh, blocked* your escape – what song were they playing?*"

"What are you talking about?!"*

Mildly, "Well, I requested 'The Yellow Rose of Texas.' Were they playing 'The Yellow Rose of Texas'?"*

Realization dawning, MacKaye said, "The garbage truck, the marching band... You did all that? You steered me to the cab, huh?"*

Jane's smile was predatory, dangerous. "The illusion of control. It made you feel safe enough to go where you kept the paintings."* He shrugged. "Just a few 'tricks and cleverness.' Now, unless you have any further questions about how I played you,* I have someplace fabulous to go.*"

Abbott motioned the uniformed officer in to escort MacKaye to a cell. Jane and Abbott left.

"Have to give it to you, Jane. Wouldn't want you for an enemy."

Jane smiled, "We're w-a-y past that, Dennis. Think of me as an ally." Abbott just snorted. They entered the break room where everyone from Austin had gathered except the art squad agents who were securing the party house, retrieving the staging art, and securing art stolen by MacKaye. The talking died down as they noticed Abbott's arrival. Jane joined Lisbon and Cho off to the side.

"Everyone, excellent work. We solved a murder and a two-year string of art thefts. Thanks to you the murderer will be a guest of the state for a very long time." Abbott turned to leave.

Jane stepped forward. "Dennis – everyone, I have a few things for you." Jane put a large box on a table. "We recently had a little team-building seminar. Thought I'd do my part. Every adult has a kid inside who pines for something he never got as a child," he announced with a flourish.

Cho whispered to Lisbon, "Bet he'd glow in the dark."

"Shush. You know it's just his high after a con."

"Let's see if I guessed right." Jane handed a gift-wrapped box to Abbott.

Abbott couldn't quite suppress a smile as he unwrapped a vintage Voltron robot, pristine in an original box. "I'm not even going to ask."

"Wise. Cho–"

A soft snort and the twinkle in his eyes revealed Cho's amusement at the Mexican jumping beans. He nodded his thanks.

Fischer's faint blush belied her diffident shrug when she unwrapped a sparkly magic wand. Jane said for her ears only, "Nice work with Pulaski. Think I caught a glimpse of the real Kim Fischer."

Her eyes narrowed, "A sex-crazed slut?"

Gently, "A capable, multi-faceted woman." A bit louder, "Join us for dinner?" Cho's eyes widened in surprise.

Startled, after a moment she replied, "Lena's flying in. I'm joining them in Austin." Fischer had grown close to the Abbott's as they helped her recover physically from her wounds and emotionally from her father's betrayal and death.

Next was Wylie. Delighted his tamagotchi already had a battery, Wylie immediately started playing with it. He said to no one in particular, "I dropped it in the pool and my folks wouldn't buy another one."

A Dallas agent stuck his head in to say a woman was asking to see Patrick Jane. Tork and Pike accepted the packages Jane unexpectedly handed them.

Jane looked around, "Hope you like them. I have to meet someone right now, so see you back in Austin." Lisbon and Cho exchanged glances. Jane always ducked any thanks.

Tork's smile at his Mickey Mouse ears gift was followed by a scowl as another interpretation struck him.

Pike's eyes widened in appreciation at the Morro painting. Then his face creased in anger. "A forgery?! That's not funny when–"

Lisbon said quietly, "A _copy_. The artist includes a tiny anachronism so it can't be mistaken for real." When Pike glanced at her in confusion, "It's from a CBI case that also involved a murder and art theft."

"Oh." Pike frowned, even more confused. "Why would Jane do this?" He pinged from pleasure at the really fine copy – which had to cost thousands, to wondering if an insult was implied. _What the hell is he getting at? A copy, not authentic? Damned tricky, confusing..._

Lisbon tipped her head and said, "Why does Jane do anything?" before drifting back to Cho.

Pike's gaze trailed her. "Tork, guess who didn't get anything."

"Who?"

"Lisbon."

"Real jerk, isn't he?"

Pike shook his head. Every interaction with Jane left him off balance, frustrated, confused.

People milled around for a few minutes hoping Jane would return. When he didn't, Tork told Pike the art squad agents were meeting them at a tex-mex restaurant. Pike said he'd follow in a few minutes.

Abbott announced he had to leave to meet Lena's flight. Fischer followed him out.

Cho commented dryly to Lisbon, "I see this crowd doesn't celebrate together." She shrugged. "Wylie and I will get the SUV. You collect Jane."

The room had emptied out except for Lisbon and Pike. Pike looked at his painting, then at Lisbon who stood empty-handed. "Lisbon – Teresa, we could get those pancakes now. You're a hell of an agent and a mighty fine woman. I'd like to get to know you."

Flustered, "I, uh, I was gonna have dinner with Jane." She looked around, desperately hoping Jane would instantly appear.

Pike took and released a breath slowly. "Teresa, my father bullied and browbeat my mother their entire marriage. It doesn't have to be like that. _You_ don't have to put up with that."

Lisbon's mouth hung open a little. She closed her mouth and swallowed, looked away. "Marcus, um, Pike, it – it isn't like–"

Jane poked his head in the door. "–Lisbon, c'mon. Cho's double-parked." He grabbed her hand and tugged gently. Lisbon followed with a stricken backward glance at Pike.

She hoped Jane didn't hear Pike's "Damn!"

**Kenny's, Dallas**

Cho drove. Wylie rode shotgun. Lisbon and Jane were in back. Cho and Lisbon nixed Jane's suggestions - a Peruvian-Japanese restaurant and a "high concept" French restaurant that he "just happened" to know. They settled on Kenny's, a grill that would satisfy the three agents without Jane turning up his nose.

Lisbon lightly poked Jane in the ribs. "You are the _worst_ food snob."

"Just open to new things."

"Yeah, really flexible about beverages," she drawled. "It's either all-night diners in bad neighborhoods. Or hundred-dollar-a-plate places." She squeezed his leg affectionately. Jane covered her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

After a lull, Wylie burbled happily, "Man, this case was _fun._ I'm sorry there was a murder, but solving it was cool." He twisted around to look back at Jane. "Jane, Pike said MacKaye was going to kill you. How did you know about the noise alarm wired to the police station?"

Jane looked sheepish when Lisbon glared at that bit of news. Easily, "I lied. It's reasonable the house _might_ have that security measure. MacKaye bought it."

Cho asked, "How's working with Pike and Tork?"

Lisbon glanced at Wylie, then decided he was one of them. After all, Wylie had provided critical help on Blake when they asked. She sighed. "They don't 'get' how Jane operates. Not good."

Cho continued, "How 'bout you, Wylie? You like field work?"

"Great not to be stuck at a desk for once."

"Tork gives you time in the field?"

Wylie deflated. "No. He thinks agents are either field or specialty. Pike too."

Lisbon changed the subject. "How about you, Cho? How's your mom, the new job?"

"She's pretty much recovered. Family came over to celebrate. I start work week after next."

Wylie asked timidly, transparently. "The relocation's permanent, then?"

"Yeah."

The restaurant was everything they hoped. In a good mood after the successful con, Jane was exceptionally entertaining. Only when Wylie stepped away to the men's room did Cho ask about Fischer.

"You're working with Fischer again."

"We are," Lisbon confirmed.

Cho looked at Jane. "Why?"

Jane shrugged. "Why not?" Jane threw down his napkin and excused himself to go to the men's room.

Cho looked at Lisbon in silent query.

"He feels sorry for her, maybe relates to her. Kim's father was even more of a bastard than his was."

"Unexpected."

"He's trying, Cho. He doesn't want to nurse new grudges, stay angry. And, frankly, she isn't so bad now. She changed after the mess with her father."

"Okay."

After dinner they dropped Cho off at the airport. He'd be in San Francisco when the moving van arrived. Then Wylie drove back with Lisbon and Jane.

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin**

Jane unlocked the door and they trudged inside. They dropped their away bags in the bedroom without bothering to turn on lights. Lisbon grabbed her sleep tee and disappeared in the bathroom for a quick shower. Jane shed jacket and shoes, sank onto the couch and propped his feet up, letting the day's tension drain away.

Lisbon finished fifteen minutes later, damp hair curling around her face as she entered the living room. She ruffled his hair.

"Hey. I'm making coffee. Want tea?"

"Always." Jane sat up and looked toward the kitchen over the couch back. _How long before she notices?_

A minute later Lisbon walked out with their drinks and a framed picture in hand. Uncertainly, "Jane, what's this?"

"I had a real estate ad framed." Two kids played with a dog in front of a little yellow cottage. The mom was gardening while the dad washed the car.

She sat down slowly. "Why?"

Slight smile on his lips, he explained, "Anyone who lost his happy childhood wants nothing more than to regain it. It never goes away."

"I never said that."

He pulled her close to nestle against him. "Who said I was talking about you?"

She leaned far enough away to face him. "I thought you didn't have - I mean–"

"Then you want it even more." He kissed her cheek and sighed. "There were some good years when my mom was alive. ... Before my dad became what he did." He swallowed a lump. "It's what I wanted with Angie and Charlie." He looked down. "And then threw it all away."

"Don't do this, Jane." She leaned forward, got his tea and handed it to him.

He drank some and took a deep breath to regain his composure. Gaze burning intensely into her eyes, "It's what I want with you."

She licked her lips. Green eyes bright with emotion, "Me too."

He hugged her close again. "It won't be long, my dear. We'll have that home and family."

Her face crumpled in dismay. "Not so far. I don't know–"

"Shhh." He kissed her, interrupting the uncertainty and pain and longing. "We'll have a family one way or another. We've come so far despite everything. Best of all, I have _you._"

They stayed awhile, content just sitting together, tired but satisfied with the day's work. Jane finally roused himself. He put their cups in the sink then gave Lisbon a hand up.

"C'mon, love. We'll sleep better in bed." He guided her down the hall to the bedroom, arm around her shoulders. He flicked the light on and paused in the doorway.

Lisbon blinked sleepily. "Why'd you stop?" She looked around and suddenly straightened. She whispered, "Manet's Violets?" as she saw the new picture above the bed.

He grinned. "A print. Story fits us, doesn't it? So many years I couldn't–"

"–_We couldn't_–"

"–admit our love. Forbidden love."

She turned in his arms. "Not anymore. I love you, Patrick Jane. Always have, always will."

He brushed tears from her cheeks, not noticing a few of his own. "And I love you." He grinned and said, "You're stuck with me, you know. Obsessive personality. One track mind."

She swallowed and mirrored his grin. "Wouldn't have it any other way." She looked sharply at him. "Hey–that's two gifts. Which is which?"

His smile was pure joy. "They're both ours. We can dream together now." She yelped when he tossed her on the bed and leaped on alongside her. Sleep was delayed by much laughter, kissing, and passion as they did their best to start the family they wanted.


	42. Chapter 42 - Cutting The Ties That Bind

**Chapter 42: Cutting The Ties That Bind**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted verbatim from The Mentalist _Green Light_ episode.

**San Francisco, Sunday**

The semi's trailer doors clanged shut and the movers slid in the metal ramp. The lead pulled the folded contract from his shirt pocket for Cho to sign while he explained how to initiate a claim for any damage. Cho shook their hands, palming them hefty tips for a job well done.

And at last they were gone.

Standing alongside, Rigsby said, "Got all the big stuff where you want it?"

"Yeah, thanks for helping."

"I should shove off. Promised Grace we'd go to the park with the kids."

Cho turned and faced him. "No beer and pizza?"

"I'd _love_ pizza," he replied longingly, "–instead of Grace's rabbit food."

"Longer life."

"Longer food purgatory. Raincheck?"

Chos eyes twinkled, "I'm not going anywhere."

"In a few weeks then. –And, hey! Don't screw up your back moving boxes."

"Yes, Grace." Rigsby pulled a face and waved goodbye. He trotted off, already late starting the drive back to Sacramento.

Cho mounted the steps to his townhouse. He grew up in the metro area and had known exactly what he wanted. This solid, dignified block of older townhouses put new construction to shame. The interiors were completely rehabbed, sleek and modern. He might even buy if he'd be in SanFran long term. Fortunately he'd signed the lease and arranged for utilities before going to Texas to oversee the movers, before Jane dragooned him into helping with the case. The corners of his mouth quirked up. _Case _was_ fun. _ The almost-smile faded into his usual impassivity at the thought it might be the last time he'd work with Lisbon and Jane, even if they made it back to California.

He pulled a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and dropped into a side chair, glad he'd put some in to chill before the movers arrived. He had a week to set up before starting work. His musings were interrupted by a knock. _Rigs forget something?_ The door opened and a woman poked her head in.

"Cho?" Spotting him she smiled the calm smile he loved – _had__ loved_ – and stepped in.

"Elise. How'd you know?" He took her upper arms and pulled her closer in a not-quite embrace, then released her. Her hands trailed down his arms and let go.

"Everyone's connected to everyone. –Alyssa read it on your cousin's Facebook page."

Cho motioned her to sit and raised his bottle. "Want one? No idea where glasses are." His eyes drank in her sleek beauty. Despite five years apart, her golden skin was as smooth and unblemished, lips as full and sweet as he remembered.

She waved off the offer. "Just wanted to say, 'hi.' Came up from LA for my folks' party welcoming my sister back."

Cho couldn't help noticing, _No ring_. "Back?"

"From the Air Force. Alyssa just got out."

Cho nodded, sipped his beer. "And you? Running the DA's office down there by now?" He couldn't quite blunt the sharp edge to his voice.

Regret flashed across her face. "No. Climbed a couple rungs of the bureaucracy. –I'm taking a new position in Sacramento in a few months."

"Step up?"

"Yes, good opportunity. –Um, Cho–" He waited. "I was really sorry you got caught up in the Blake mess. And – and I'm glad you made it into the FBI."

"Thanks."

She rushed on, "California's been rooting out Blake corruption ever since."

Coolly, "Good."

"'Lise?" called a new voice.

"Coming!" she responded. "Oops! Alyssa was waiting in the car."

Cho walked her to the door. "Good seeing you." He held her hand a moment, then both stepped out onto the front stoop. "'You should have come in, Alyssa" he admonished.

"Hey, Cho!" The thirty-something grinned, her short, dark hair gleaming in the sun. "Welcome back."

Cho's eyes glinted with amusement and fond memories. Elise and Alyssa were polar opposites personality-wise. Where Elise was all cool, collected grace, Alyssa was scrappy enthusiasm and can-do attitude. She'd grown up since he last saw her. Not as tall as Elise, but lush and vibrant in full flower of womanhood. Her confidence – _courtesy the Air Force?_ – sat well on her.

He surprised himself by calling, "See you around," before his brain could weigh in on whether it was a good idea.

**FBI, Austin**

Still riding the high from the art case, Teresa Lisbon breezed into the FBI bullpen at ten o'clock after taking a few hours of personal time. She was pleased she'd managed to keep her Monday dental appointment. Fitting appointments into workweek business hours was always a hassle with her unpredictable schedule.

Jane looked up from his book with a smile. "Pearly whites all in order?"

Lisbon made a face. "Eh. Need to go back in two weeks for a replacement crown." Jane frowned in puzzlement. "-Before your time. Cracked a molar in a takedown." She laughed at his wince. "No biggie. _You_ just hate all things medical."

"All things _pain_," he muttered.

She turned back to her desk and idly scanned the room. Eyebrows raised, "Why's everyone so glum?"

"Schultz e-mail," he said cryptically and resumed reading. She booted up her computer and quickly found the message.

_To: Agent Pike_

_cc: Agents Abbott; Alameda, Evanson, Smith; Tork, Fischer, Lisbon, Wylie_

_From: M. Schultz, Regional Director_

_Re: Art Theft Case_

_Commendations to the Art Squad for closing six open art theft cases, including the recent one involving murder. Good initiative using Bureau resources to solve these cases._

Only Jane could hear her aggravated comment, "_Pike_ gets all the credit? Doesn't even mention you and it was your plan!"

Jane shrugged, uninterested. "Probably doesn't know."

"Wouldn't Abbott tell her?"

Jane noted the page number and closed his book. "I doubt she talks much to Abbott after he blind-sided her on Blake. Probably got the list of the agents from Lira."

"Hmph."

Amused by her outrage at the blatant unfairness, "The less credit I get, the less reason they have to keep me."

Disgruntled, she ascribed it to upper management politicking and let it go. At least it wasn't as though Pike deliberately hogged the credit. _Dammit, have to talk to the man sometime._

"Speaking of Pike, going to talk to him?" Jane asked mildly. She blinked at his uncanny habit of picking up on her thoughts. On Sunday, Jane had asked what was going on with Pike. After hotly denying anything was 'going on,' she admitted that Pike had some seriously skewed ideas about their relationship. She promised to straighten it out as soon as possible.

"Yeah, I'll–"

Tork walked over. "We're up. We're investigating a failed drug bust in San Antonio, one of several. Be downstairs in five." Wylie stayed at his desk and sighed in disappointment.

Lisbon glanced at Jane and shrugged. _Pike would have to wait._

**DEA Headquarters, San Antonio**

Tork, Lisbon, Fischer and Jane accompanied Abbott to state DEA headquarters under Bill Peterson in San Antonio. Lisbon remained amazed at all the drug-related cases they handled. Located in a border state, the Austin office was unavoidably drawn into cases involving illegal immigration, drug cartels, human trafficking, and every other imaginable border issue. Though California was also a border state, another unit had been responsible for border issues when she was in the CBI.

Not every drug raid succeeded, of course. However, the string of failed raids suggested someone was tipping off targets. FBI Regional Director Marion Schultz initiated the FBI's involvement.

Jane and Lisbon lagged back as they walked toward the DEA building. Jane quietly told Lisbon the case was a golden opportunity to take a closer look at Bill Peterson to figure out the skeleton in Abbott's past. Reading her mind, he said quietly, "Yes, I'll be careful." She opened her mouth and he added, "And discrete." When she frowned he assured, "And, no, I won't do anything without telling you." Lisbon whapped his arm, garnering a curious glance from Fischer. They entered the building to tackle the case.

Bill Peterson dashed up the corridor as they arrived, intercepting Abbott and drawing him into his office. The other FBI agents were led to the DEA bullpen by Peterson's assistant.

"Dennis, what brings the Feds into DEA business?"

Mildly, "SOP. Failed drug busts always trigger questions about whether someone's leaking plans for the raids. The brass made the assignment - not my call."

Peterson smiled without warmth, "Glad you're on it then, Dennis. Hang around long enough and eventually someone wants to take you down." At Abbott's raised eyebrow, "I have a shot at DEA Director for the entire Southwest. Some people would rather old Bill Peterson doesn't get it."

"You know I play it straight. If someone here has been turned, we'll find him and get him out of your hair."

"Of course."

Relieved to focus on the case, Abbott nodded and said, "Well, better get on with it. I understand Darryl Gonzales led the raid. And the Alamo Brewhouse restaurant owner filed a complaint?"

Peterson waved it off. "Gonzo got a little hot but he's a good team leader. He's on paid leave, as required."

"Where can I find him?"

"My assistant will give you his home address." Abbott turned to leave and Peterson added, "I need to see your report before it's filed."

Abbott turned back. "You know that's not how it works."

"Dennis, we go way back. I was your first CO at Rio Bravo – what? – 15 years ago? All I'm asking is a little professional courtesy."

Abbott paused and finally said, "I'll see what I can do."

**San Antonio**

Darryl Gonzales was easy to find. His house was clearly numbered on a pleasant subdivision street. Not so pleasant was the cartel symbol spray-painted on the front door which stood ajar. Abbott drew his gun and nudged the door open with his foot.

"**FBI! Darryl Gonzales, are you in here?"**

No answer.

Gun drawn and ready, Abbott cleared each room as he went through the house. He found Gonzales in the den, facing a TV showing a sporting event. Abbott rotated the chair. Gonzales had three bullet holes in his chest and duck tape over his mouth – stone cold dead.

**DEA Headquarters, San Antonio**

"...Now Special Agent Bill Peterson has a few words." Abbott stepped to the side so Bill Peterson could address the 30 DEA agents in the auditorium. Abbott looked down as Peterson spoke.

"We lost one of our own today. All signs point to the Sosa cartel having murdered Darryl Gonzales. I want each of you to give the FBI team your full cooperation during their investigation. We _will_ get whoever did this. Dismissed." He left and the meeting broke up.

Jane caught Abbott's arm before he followed the last of them out. Quietly, "What does this guy Peterson have on you?"*

"Why do you ask?"*

Easily, "Because you're acting like he has something on you."*

"He doesn't."*

"Okay."*

The FBI team slogged through the grunt work that provided the foundation of any case. Tork interviewed restaurant owner Steven Corbel about the last, failed raid Gonzales led. Fischer started interviews with the DEA agents while Lisbon and Jane went through Gonzales's desk and case files. Jane paid particular attention to the file on the Alamo Brewhouse, spreading several photos of the restaurant entrance on the desk. He suddenly straightened and strode to the room where Tork and a DEA agent were questioning Corbel.

Stepping in, Jane asked, "Brewhouse owner, right?" At Corbel's nod, "What time do you open?"

"Eleven, why?"

"You can go." Jane ducked back out.

The DEA agent protested, "No he can't!"

Tork ordered, "Sit down, Corbel." They finished asking a few questions and released Corbel.

The DEA agent buttonholed Jane at the coffee station as he got tea. "Hey, what's the idea?"

"Just making sure of the time. We're raiding the Brewhouse this afternoon."

"What the hell? Why didn't anyone inform the DEA?"

Jane cocked his head. "What did I just do?"

Jane and Abbott entered the Almo Brewhouse at exactly 11:00. They passed the sign outlined with incandescent bulbs and Jane surreptitiously twisted the loose bulb on the bottom right. It lit up. They were seated at a table a few rows back from the entrance.

Abbott sipped his coffee while Jane drank tea. "All right, Jane, I'm here. Why?" Before Jane could answer, Bill Peterson walked up.

Jane smiled and gestured him to sit. "Good timing."

Irritated, "What's this about a raid, Dennis? I'm supposed to be in the loop."

"Jane is about to explain, aren't you?" Abbott said, deceptively gently.

Jane pulled Gonzales's photos from his suit jacket and spread them on the table. "Notice anything?"

After a moment Abbott said, "The light on the sign."

"Exactly. Drugs are sold when it's on. Notice it was off the day Gonzales conducted his raid–"

"-Which is why they found no drugs," Abbott finished. "It's a signal."

At that moment, they saw Steven Corbel walk to the sign, then turn and re-enter the restaurant. Jane unleashed a full wattage smile. "Et voila! He unscrews the bulb, so no drugs. That's after I mentioned a raid at the DEA this morning."

Peterson frowned, finally catching on. "There is no raid?"

"I lied. Harmless deception to prove my theory."

Abbott said slowly, "We now know that's Corbel's signal. _And_ we know someone's leaking word of raids." He took a breath, "Gonzales figured it out and was killed for it." He looked at Peterson. "Your leak is the murderer."

**FBI, Austin**

The team convened the next morning in the Austin FBI bullpen. Abbot opened, "We have a traitor leaking word of raids. Despite window dressing suggesting a cartel hit, Darryl Gonzales was likely killed by the dirty DEA agent. _No __one_ of the 30 agents is above suspicion."

Lisbon added, "Thirty-one including Peterson."

Abbot disagreed mildly, "Bill Peterson isn't a trigger man."

Fischer noted, "There's been a half dozen failed raids in the past few years and Peterson always explains them away. Something's going on."

Tork spoke next, "We've interviewed the 30 DEA agents, but–" he looked around for confirmation, "nothing stands out."

"Our working theory is that the murder was an attempt to cover-up the leak. Anything surface in your interviews that would provide a different motive – affair gone bad, enemies at the DEA, anything?" They all shook their heads. "O-kay. What else have we got. Wylie?"

"I did a first pass on financial data and phone records for everyone, including Peterson. Nothing suspicious so far. –As for Corbel..." he shuffled some papers, "–nothing obvious. No big bank deposits, no phone contacts with known cartel members or the DEA. Of course, it'd be easy for a restaurant owner to launder drug money." His forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. "He _does_ spend a lot of time on a blog about Persian long-haired cats."

Tork grinned incredulously, "You're kidding! Didn't strike me as a cat fancier."

Abbott weighed in, "Or me. Wylie, see if he's using the blog to pass coded messages for drug deliveries and raids."

"Will do."

Jane asked, "What about Peterson?"

Wylie pulled out another sheet. "DEA agent for 27 years. Rio Bravo Station head for six, Texas director the last 15. No unexplained big deposits, no suspicious phone contacts. Divorced 13 years ago."

"How's he spend his time?"

"Working. Sixty hours a week on average. Personally in on most of the drug raids."

"How's he spend his money?"

"Aside from ordinary expenses, credit card charges for a couple of scuba diving trips to the Carribean each year, tickets to the big tennis competitions. Oh, and he likes good wine. Must have a collection."

Lisbon opined, "Huh. Pretty lavish lifestyle for a DEA agent, even a state director."

Abbott cautioned, "Doesn't prove anything. Our priority is the murderer and leak. Ideas for identifying the murderer?"

Tork scratched his head. "Could squeeze the agents again, but that's just a shotgun approach."

Lisbon, doubtfully, "Sift through computer records and see if we can correlate messages to aborted drug raids."

Abbott frowned and glanced at Jane. "Anything more focused?"

Jane tipped his head and smiled. "Let me have till this afternoon. If my hunch pans out, I'll have a plan."

Abbott turned to the group. "In case it doesn't pan out, you three try to find patterns. Wylie, you're support for them. Jane, you do – whatever it is you do. We need a plan before going back to San Antonio." He turned on his heel and headed toward his office.

Jane got up from his couch. "Wylie, before you start the other work, I need the ID photos for each DEA agent for the past three years. I assume they're computerized. If not, uh, maybe Fischer can help get them?"

Fischer gave Jane an amused glance. "Let me know, Wylie." She, Tork and Lisbon gathered in the conference room to divide the work and agree on an approach.

By three Jane had his plan. A half-hour later, Abbott had approved it and the team had hashed out the details of what each person would do.

**Iron Works BBQ, Austin**

Abbott entered the restaurant, looked around and headed to the bar. "Hey, Bill."* Bill Peterson had asked to meet and insisted it be away from either of their offices.

"Want a drink?"*

"Uh, club soda. Thanks."*

"Helluva thing, knowing that one of your people betrayed you. Killed a colleague. A friend."*

"Yeah, it's hard I know. You didn't tell your team anything?"*

"No. They think it's an investigation of a cartel member."*

"My people are the best, Bill. We'll get this guy."*

"I'm sure you will."* He turned a bit to face Abbott squarely. "When you do, I need to share the collar."*

"What do you mean?"*

"I want credit for the arrest. We'll come up with something I did. –Something vital to the investigation."*

Abbott sipped his drink. Bluntly, "So you want me to lie for you?"*

Irritated, "I _told_ you. I have enemies. They find out one of my people was working for the cartel they'll take me to town unless I do something. I need to be part of the solution."*

Voice low and heated, "You have been asleep at the wheel. One of your people has been in bed with the Sosa's for years and you didn't see it! Now you want me to cover your ass. We should be having a discussion about your resignation."*

All bonhomie gone, "We've all done things that we're not proud of, Dennis, things we'd like kept quiet."*

"So you're going to hang Rio Bravo over my head unless I play along."*

With false regret, "I wish it was just you. Lena's confirmation's coming up in a couple of weeks, right? Rio Bravo. –Would be a real problem there too." Peterson threw some bills on the bar and stood. "I _need_ this, Dennis. Keep me posted."*

**FBI, Austin**

Abbott looked up from his immaculate desk. He hadn't turned on the light, hadn't heard the door open. But there was no mistaking the silhouette of the man leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm guessing by your look that you just talked to Peterson. I'm listening."*

Tiredly, "Go away, Jane."

"Then I'll talk." The consultant entered, closed the door and took a chair in front of Abbott's desk. He eyed the man in the dim light filtering in from the hall. Bluntly, "Did you tell Peterson tomorrow's plan?"

Abbott frowned. "No, dammit. Now get out."

"Good." Jane leaned back and tapped his lips with a forefinger. "You worked for Bill Peterson down in Rio Bravo, one of your first bosses." Abbott flicked his fingers, dismissing that basic career data as insignificant. "He has something on you and is threatening you. –And your wife." Abbott's head jerked up. Jane smiled a little. "Right. Since you are – and don't take this the wrong way – annoyingly straight arrow, it can't be something for your own benefit. You aren't the type to sell drugs or take bribes from a cartel. However I'm struck by the unsolved assassination of a Zeta cartel lieutenant near Rio Bravo. Curiously, that happened just days before you left. – Getting warmer?"

"Plan on blackmailing me?"

"I'm going to help you."

"Jane, leave it."

He leaned a bit closer. "Abbott, if I figured it out, others can too. With or without Peterson. I can make this go away."

Abbott's face registered doubt. Doubt and faint, faint hope. He shook his head a little.

"Foiling an attack requires knowing the weapon." Jane paused. Abbott stubbornly remained silent. Thinking aloud and reading his reactions, "You're too wary to tell me anything even when I'm offering help. So you didn't tell anyone. Witnesses? If there were any it already would have come out. And Peterson would be in no position to guarantee that it wouldn't. Ergo, no witnesses. –Then I'm guessing hard evidence. The bullet?" Abbott blinked. Jane exhaled slowly. "Peterson has the bullet from your gun that killed the cartel man. He'd have to observe chain of custody protocol to prove it was taken from the corpse. And he had to compare the rifling on that bullet against the file data for your service weapon."

Abbott's expression confirmed Jane's speculation.

"Now exactly how would Peterson use that evidence?" Jane's eyes widened. "The threat against Lena means an attack on her at the confirmation hearing. That would ruin her chances for the position and trigger an investigation against you. ... Guess I need to get that bullet before her hearing."

Abbott took a breath and ground out, "The hearing's in a week."

Jane shrugged. "Then I'll have to be quick. Wylie got Peterson's phone data. There are calls to Jules Blatt. He's a freshman congressman on the confirmation committee and no friend of this administration. He's also on the oversight committee for the DEA. That's got to be the connection to Peterson. Quid pro quo, our government in action. Beautiful, isn't it?" Jane leaned back with a smug smile.

Abbott rubbed his forehead with both hands. "There are no free lunches. What do you get out of this?"

"I want flexibility in my agreement with the FBI."

"Replace one blackmailer with another?"

"I'm betting I can make you see it differently."

"I'm not agreeing to anything."

Jane rolled his eyes. "We'll haggle later. Right now I need to get that bullet." He rose. Just before opening the door he turned. "Peterson would get back at you after tomorrow's plan regardless. This will work."

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin**

Jane closed and bolted the door behind him, hurrying to keep out moths and mosquitoes. He was so lost in thought he didn't notice Lisbon lying on the couch at first.

"Jane," she greeted, muzzy from sleep. "What kept you?"

He put water on for tea. "Waited for Abbott. He met with Peterson."

"And?"

"Just a minute." He made his tea, carried in cup and saucer and dropped down beside her on the couch. "And Peterson is blackmailing Abbott, as we thought."

Straightening, surprised. "He told you?"

After a sip, "No. I had to lay out my guesses and confirm the details by reading him."

"What _is_ the story?"

"Abbott killed – assassinated – a cartel lieutenant near Rio Bravo when he worked for Peterson. Peterson figured it out when Abbott transferred a few days later. He'll use the information to ruin Lena's chances of being confirmed and trigger an investigation into Abbott. The bullet from the corpse is his proof."

"What does Peterson get out of it?"

"Cover in the current mess. And he curries favor with Blatt, the committee member Peterson's been calling. Blatt just happens to be on the committee confirming Lena Abbott and the DEA oversight committee."

Turning to face him, "Jane, you're sure Abbott isn't dirty? I mean–"

"I'm sure. Abbott was about to fall on his sword by going along with tomorrow's plan to solve the case. Was offended when I asked if he told Peterson. Whatever the reason he killed that cartel lieutenant it wasn't for personal gain."

"Now what?"

"Now I need to get that bullet." He put his arm around Lisbon's shoulders. "I need you to find out how well Peterson gets along with Schultz."

She raised her eyebrows at the non sequitur. "How does–. Oh, never mind. What else?"

"I'll need either Wylie or Grace to change the rifling data for the bullet Peterson's recovered. Say, to a gun from some low level Mexican thug in the Rio Bravo area, preferably someone who's dead."

Worried, "Jane, I don't want to drag them into something illegal."

"Let's ask, okay? I'll figure something else out if it's too dangerous."

"And tomorrow? Sure your plan will work?"

He nodded. "Gonzales was killed by whomever's leaking raid plans. Motive has to be greed. He may be smart enough to avoid ostentation. But someone that greedy will indulge in smaller ways. Let's shake the tree and see what falls out."

**DEA Headquarters, San Antonio**

Ten agents herded into the DEA HQ auditorium. They grumbled a little when Tork and Fischer asked them to deposit their weapons in a basket, but went along when told that it was essential to catching Gonzales's killer. Tork left the room with the basket of weapons and Jane started the meeting. Abbott stood quietly several paces behind Jane.

"Thank you for meeting. I think we can find out who killed Darryl Gonzales by answering a few questions."

The agents exchanged glances, uneasy and frowning. Agent Jackson said, "Then you think someone here – one of us – killed Gonzo?"

"Yes. One of you is working with the Sosa cartel.* That same someone probably killed Darryl Gonzales." He paused while that thought sank in. "Has anyone here recently inherited some money from a deceased parent or grandparent?" The agents looked at him in confusion. "I'm not talking a little bit. A pile, enough to make a difference. Please raise your hands."* Three people hesitantly raised hands. "Um, very sorry for your losses. None of you killed Darryl Gonzales. You can move to the back of the room. Thank you."*

A female agent challenged, "What does an inheritance have to do with who killed Gonzales?"*

"That is a good question. But I'm the one asking those right now. –Now, is there anyone here with a relationship with someone from the beauty field?"*

The male agent who'd been outraged at Jane's interruption of the Corbel interrogation answered. "Yeah. My husband runs a couple of styling salons."*

"How long have you been together?"*

"A year."*

"Congratulations. I'm very happy for you. Uh, you didn't kill Darryl Gonzales. Would you move to the back of the room, please."*

Jane waited till the agent had moved back. "Anyone here get divorced? In the past three years?"* Three male agents raised their hands. "Yes, law-enforcement. Tough on the home life. On the plus side, you didn't kill Gonzales. Back you go, please."*

The attractive, well-dressed female agent asked in amazement, "You think one of us– ? That's crazy!"*

Agent Fordic asked, "Really, why would we do that?"*

Jane answered, "Money, I assume. But I – I don't care about the motive. I'm interested in what happened _after_ one of you became a traitor. I looked at your ID pictures for the last few years. All ten of you have improved your appearance, most notably by sprucing up your hair. Some of you because you've inherited money, others because you're back in the dating scene."*

Agent Roscoe asked incredulously, "Are you seriously saying that one of us is the killer because we got a better haircut?!"*

"A killer, no. A traitor, yes. Whoever sold out to the Sosa's made bank. Got a big ego boost. When you have a big secret, it makes you feel important."*

The female agent persisted, "If you're so sure, which one of us is it?"*

"Now that is the question, isn't it?"*

Fischer opened the door and interrupted. "Jane!"

"Just a moment–"*

"I found the killer! It's Bill Peterson."* Fischer and Tork pulled Peterson into the auditorium, hands cuffed behind him.

The ten DEA agents stared in shock and drifted together at the back.

Peterson challenged, "You're seriously doing this!"*

Jane said doubtfully, "I was sure it was going to be one of the other three agents."* To Fischer, "We sure about this?"*

Fischer replied, "Wylie found a link with the cat blogs and an off-shore account in Belize. It was hidden under aliases and shells, but we traced it back to Peterson. $3.2 million bucks!"*

"You're accusing me?! Get your people in line!" Peterson demanded of Abbott, red-faced and furious.

"Take him out of here."*

"Abbott, you think I'm gonna forget about this, huh? That what you think?"* His voice could be heard down the hall as the door closed.

Stony faced, Abbott said to the ten agents, "You can pick up your firearms on the way out. We're done here."*

Lisbon confronted Agent Fordic in the parking garage. She accused him of leaving in a rush, of killing Darryl Gonzales. No matter how long it took, Lisbon promised she'd see him behind bars. She turned away when her cell rang.

Tork challenged Agent Roscoe in a hallway and asked where he was headed: The Gulf, the airport? When Roscoe asked why he'd be going there, Tork said that he'd killed Darryl Gonzales. When Roscoe protested that the FBI team had arrested Peterson, Tork insisted Roscoe had done it and that he'd prove it. Tork turned away when his cell vibrated.

Abbott stopped the female agent in the basement corridor and accused her of trying to get away. He accused her of thinking she'd have time to escape when his team arrested Peterson. Abbott promised to tail her until he had proof and she was in cuffs. Abbott turned away to answer his cell.

Roscoe shot Tork in the back.

Tork turned. "Blanks."* Roscoe ran till Tork tackled and cuffed him.

Roscoe's interrogation was brief. The FBI team had found his passport and Croatian kunas in his go-bag, and a link to tracking software installed on Gonzales's computer. The FBI team left Roscoe in custody of the local PD, where he'd be held for arraignment and trial. Tork, Lisbon and Fischer packed up and returned to Austin.

**Director Peterson's Office, DEA HQ, San Antonio**

Abbott and Jane entered Peterson's office to officially wrap up the case. Abbott began. "We found enough evidence in Roscoe's apartment to arrest Corbel and several employees. Corbel's going to flip against the Sosa cartel. Feels like a win, all in all."*

"You humiliated me in front of my people. _You perp-walked me through my own office!_"*

Abbott replied soberly, "We had to make Roscoe feel like he had a chance to get away."*

Jane interjected lightly, "You were the misdirection. It's not the best part, but you played it adequately."*

Enraged, "You were supposed to tell me what you were doing!"*

Jane explained, "We couldn't or you would've blown the shot. I mean, obviously."*

Abbott added, "I'm sorry, Bill. Really I am."*

"I was supposed to get credit. We had a deal!"*

A muscle jumped in Abbott's jaw. "There was no deal, Bill. Just a crazy idea you had in your head."*

"You're done, Abbott. It's over for you. And your wife. I'm gonna see to that.* Get out of my building!"

**En Route to Austin**

Abbott could only be described as grim. Jane waited till they were on the interstate before speaking.

"You did the right thing."

"Yes I did. And Lena will suffer for it."

Jane shook his head. "So little faith. I have a plan and it will work."

"How, Jane? I did it and he has the evidence."

Jane huffed, "Cops. Aren't you the ones always saying that it only counts if it can be proven in court? When I'm done there will be no proof. And Peterson will be discredited."

Abbott closed his eyes for a long moment, long enough for Jane to be afraid as they hurtled down the expressway. Abbott opened his eyes and took a breath. "However much I hate it, I don't want you going after an innocent man. _I screwed up_, not Peterson."

Voice laced with disbelief, "You really are a boy scout." Jane's tone hardened, "Today's operation caught Roscoe. It also let me read Peterson under pressure. Peterson is no innocent victim, Dennis. His reaction was as much fear as outrage."

"Fear?"

"Of being exposed. He reacted when Fischer accused him of hiding dirty money."

Abbott frowned. "I wish I believed it."

"You have my word. Peterson's given me all the ammunition I need to hang him."

"How? I won't risk my agents' careers in an illegal scheme to save my ass."

"Wylie investigated Peterson as a legitimate suspect in the DEA case. I already have what I need on him." Jane said precisely, "No agent other than Lisbon will be involved beyond that."

Abbott ran his hand over his shaved scalp. "How will I know it worked?"

"You'll know because Peterson will fail."

Abbott pulled into the FBI lot and turned off the ignition. He looked hard at Jane.

Jane shrugged slightly with one shoulder. "Time to place your bet, Abbott. Either you trust me to make this go away. Or you – _and your wife _– suffer because you killed a ruthless murderer sixteen years ago. Which is it?"

"God help me. Do it."


	43. Chapter 43 - Scheming

**Chapter 43: Scheming**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted from The Mentalist _Byzantium_ episode script.

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin, Wednesday Night**

Moonlight laid ghostly fingers across their bed through the blinds. Jane lay still in the cool dim room, staring at the ceiling while he idly stroked her back.

Lisbon stirred. Quietly, "If we're gonna lie awake, talk to me."

"Hm?"

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing. ... Thinking how strange people are."

"Who?" She rolled over then nestled back against his side. He contented himself with rubbing silky hair between his fingers.

"Abbott."

She nudged him. "Don't make me drag it out of you."

"Abbott insisted I not go after 'an innocent man.' Direct quote." The pillowcase rustled as he shook his head. "I mean, Peterson's _blackmailing_ him."

"What's strange?"

He huffed. "Hardly innocent."

"Abbott has to live with himself. He worries more about living up to his personal standards than what Peterson did wrong."

Amused, "I _bet_ you relate to that."

This nudge was sharper, her tone wry, "And you don't?"

A note of sadness crept in, "Maybe I do."

She swallowed, sorry to have touched on _that_. She changed the subject, "How will you get the bullet from Peterson?"

"He'll give it to me – Sam, actually."

"So that's why you called Pete. How do they fit in?"

"Blatt's new, just opened his Austin office. Peterson's contacts with Blatt's office started during the case–

"-Charming. Planned to blackmail Abbott all along," Lisbon said in disgust.

"-but he stayed in San Antonio during the investigation. Sam poses as Blatt's assistant, Missy Bramer, meets him at a restaurant Thursday, expresses interest. Peterson gives her the bullet for Monday's hearings, either then or Friday."

"He could just FedEx it to Blatt in D.C."

"But won't. Peterson's all about enemies out to destroy him, especially after the investigation. He'll need to hand it over personally."

"Then what?"

"I'll give it to Abbott." He added, "He wouldn't bend to blackmail by Peterson. Blackmail by me won't work either."

She propped herself on her elbows to look him in the face. "How do you get him to change your agreement?"

"Convince him it's the right thing to do."

She flopped back down. "Oh God."

"_Think_, Lisbon. It's the _only_ thing that will work."

"I'm listening."

He drew her close and kissed her temple. Her slight form was stiff with tension. "You cops are a stubborn lot. You didn't help me kill Red John because I wanted revenge. Took years for you to convince yourself it was the right thing to do."

"Wasn't 'right,'" she objected half-heartedly. "Was the only way to stop him."

"Abbott has to feel it's best for the FBI. I know I can persuade him."

She sighed. "Hope so."

Jane tucked the sheet under his chin and settled deeper into the pillow. Soon his slow, deep breathing told her he was asleep. It was a while before she joined him.

Eight hours later Lisbon was dressed and ready to go. She went into the bedroom and shook Jane's shoulder as he lay sleeping. "Hey. Gonna be late for work."

"Personal day," he mumbled. He yawned and sat up. "Set things up to trap Peterson," his thoughts immediately turning to his sting.

She sat on the edge of the bed and sipped her coffee. Noticing the familiar gleam in his eyes she said, "You enjoy scheming way too much. I swear I'm shacking up with Mephistopheles."

Delighted, "We're at the shacking up stage?" He leaned over and gave her a sloppy kiss. "You know that's why you love me, dear." Returning to the topic, "–I know how to play it to get the bullet. Still need proof Peterson's dirty." He frowned as he dressed. "Wylie didn't find any inexplicably large bank deposits or investments when he researched Peterson."

Lisbon thought aloud, "If he wasn't taking pay-offs, maybe he was skimming drugs. He _was_ at most raids. Unusual for a state director."

Jane affected a British accent as he tucked his shirt in. "By George, I think you've got it!"

She threw him a long-suffering glance. "Didn't Wylie say he has a top-of-the-line security system?"

"Yes he did, come to think of it. Fits his personality. –We can search Peterson's house in San Antonio while he's up here meeting with Sam."

"Ignoring that breaking and entering is illegal, can you get in?"

He nodded. "Wylie told me the make of the system. Grace said she can hack it. She'll record the codes when he comes home." Lisbon sighed, anything but happy. Seeing her discomfort, "-Lisbon, I can do this alone."

"Faster with two. And I'll keep you out of trouble."

A few minutes later she left as Jane was preparing tea in the kitchen. She set aside concerns about the B&amp;E when she arrived at work.

**FBI, Austin, Thursday**

Lisbon noticed Pike at Abbott's desk as soon as she walked in. Abbott's e-mail confirmed that Pike was subbing. Again. She went to the break room for coffee. Fischer was the only one there.

"'Morning, Lisbon."

"Fischer." She looked down as she prepared her coffee. "Schultz ordered the investigation into Peterson's failed drug raid, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"How do Schultz and Peterson get along?"

Fischer snorted. "Agents who work with her say they hate each other. Why?"

"Just curious. –So Abbott's out again?"

"Helping Lena prep." With a hint of regret, "Her confirmation is the last thing before he accepts a position in D.C."

"Oh?"

"The Blake case put him up for promotion, work at the national level."

"How's that affect you?"

"Me?"

"You – uh, you're kind of his protégé." As seconds ticked by Lisbon's face grew red, afraid she'd stuck her foot in her mouth.

Finally, "Dennis asked if I wanted to go to D.C." She stopped. Lisbon waited silently. "I don't think that's a good move for me."

Lisbon frowned. "Abbott thinks highly of you. Seems you and he are back on good terms," she said delicately. Despite the detention fiasco, her work had been exemplary after she started working on Blake.

Voice low, "I screwed up because I didn't trust my own judgment. Time to stand on my own."

"Oh." Lisbon thought back to the years after Minelli retired. They were brutally hard coming off the murder of Bosco and his team. But she got tougher and more politically savvy without Minelli running interference. She'd had to. "I faced something similar."

They parted to tackle the closed case paperwork.

Pike appeared later that morning. Tork had stepped away and Pike paused by Lisbon's desk. "Jane didn't bother coming in?"

"Personal day."

"Oh, okay. I guess." He frowned. "Unless we get a case."

Surfacing from the paperwork she recalled she still needed to talk to Pike. By then he was walking away. She slumped. _Maybe tomorrow._ Pike made a point of walking around every floor every day when he was in charge. She wondered if he'd read that in a management book somewhere. _Cookbook management. Figures_.

**Hilton Hotel, Austin**

It was 10:00 a.m. when Jane made it to the downtown Hilton. He found him by the pool.

"Pete!"

The grizzled bear of a man turned and pulled him into a crushing hug. "Paddy!" He vaguely waved at the sparkling pool. "Fancy digs, first class flight. What's cookin' that's worth all this? –You're back and only now look us up after three years?"

Jane finally got a word in. "A bargain if you and Sam get me what I want. Haven't been by because the FBI's got me on a short leash. One I'll slip with your help." He scanned the pool and deck chairs. "Where's Sam?"

"Out spending your money," he answered cheerfully. "You said she needs to look up-scale business. Spa, hair salon, shopping. She'll be back in a few hours."

"Good. Gives us time to shop for you and the others. –You said you know carnies in Austin who clean up well?"

"Couple of the boys'll help out for a few hundred apiece." The older man grimaced. "–So you want me in a monkey suit–"

"–Tie, too," Jane grinned happily.

By noon everything was bought and prepared. Jane briefed Pete and Sam on the plan. Sam was up first. Later that afternoon she would stop at Blatt's office to interview for a job. When informed there was no job, she would ask to use their phone and call Peterson to meet for dinner that night. Caller ID would identify the call as coming from Blatt's office. On Friday the whole ad hoc team would get in on the action.

**Austin-to-San Antonio, Early Evening**

Jane picked Lisbon up after work in a nondescript rental car. By 6:00 p.m. Van Pelt called. Peterson was driving north from San Antonio. She smugly informed him she'd gotten the security system codes. Jane promised her a Manolo Blahnik gift card.

They searched Peterson's house while Sam Barsocky, posing as Missy Bramer, dined with Peterson in Austin. Lisbon stepped in front and shoved latex gloves into Jane's hands as they approached the door. He picked the lock in seconds. He silenced the security alarm while Lisbon called Van Pelt to rig the system. If Peterson checked, his security cameras would show a recording of an empty house. They had to hurry. Encroaching night would expose the looped video as false.

The search was a bust.

"Now what?" Lisbon nervously eyed the lengthening shadows through the windows.

Jane sank down on the couch. "Let me think."

"Could it be outside, in a shed or something?"

Jane only shook his head. Lisbon shrugged and left to double check the house. A pair of crystal candlesticks on the mantle caught his eye. They clashed with the Texas-themed decor, didn't fit. He smiled and leaped up. He moved the left candlestick. Nothing happened. He moved the right one. The false back of the fireplace firebox slid aside. "Lisbon!"

She dashed back, exhaling in relief at the sight of the safe hidden behind the fireplace. Relief was short-lived.

Jane crouched low to examine the lock. "Damn."

"What?"

"Biometric." He squatted, just staring at the safe then snapped his fingers – or tried to with latex gloves on – as a smile slowly bloomed. "Did you see any tape? –Scotch tape?"

"Wh– In the office." After a second, "I'll get it."

She folded over the ends, careful not to smudge the adhesive in the middle. Jane took the tape and went into the kitchen. "Yep." He centered the tape over the power control on the smooth induction cook top and pressed.

"How do you know it's a fingerprint?"

"Safe is low and far back. Too awkward for an iris or hand print." He carefully peeled the tape off. "Most likely the right index finger. Dominant hand."

The safe door swung open. Several stacks of neatly banded $100 dollar bills stared them in the face.

He picked one up, eyeballed the thickness, and riffled the edges to verify all were $100's. "Hundred count bundles. Ten-thousand per bundle and there are–"

"–230 bundles. Two-million three-hundred thousand," Lisbon finished. Sarcastically, "Who knew state DEA director paid that well?"

Jane looked out the window. "Need to wrap this up." Jane fished the new burner smart phone from a pocket and took pictures of the open safe, bundles of hundreds fanned out in front of the fireplace. His photos captured the portrait of Peterson and his sons on the mantle along with the safe and money. Both jumped when his cell phone rang.

"Hey, Grace. ... Perfect. ... Thanks for the heads up. We just finished. Left Peterson's computer on for you. ... And you're sure there won't be any trace you hacked it? Thanks."

Lisbon hissed, "Jane, hurry up!" She reset the alarm and hustled him out the door. The tension eased once they were on the road. "Good thing most criminals aren't as smart as you. Law enforcement would have a helluva time."

"'_Most'_?" She hit his arm. He grinned, elated at their discovery.

Sam called shortly after. Peterson would give her the evidence at Blatt's office on Friday.

As they drove back to Austin, Jane sent his photo to Abbott's cell phone. Caption: "$2.3 million. Proof positive."

Jane leaned back, thinking, for the next several minutes. "Lisbon, did the case provide enough for an investigation referral of Peterson personally?"

She hesitated. "The expensive travel is suspicious as are all the failed raids. Without the stash of money it's a little light for a referral. Still, Schultz has a lot of discretion."

Jane smiled. "And you said Schultz dislikes him?"

"'Hates' him according to Fischer."

"Time for the FBI to do its job. Get Tork or Pike to make that referral."

"Not Abbott?"

"N-o-o, let's have it look like Abbott did it behind the scenes. Give Peterson a motive for attacking Abbott at the hearing."

She looked askance, then shrugged. "I'll see what I can do tomorrow."

**Austin, Friday**

Lisbon went to work. Jane took a second personal day.

At 8:00 a.m. one of Pete's men slipped notes under the doors in Blatt's office complex. The memo announced there would be extermination spraying. It recommended staying away for at least 30 minutes afterward as a "health precaution."

Van Pelt called at 11:30. GPS phone tracking showed Peterson en route to Austin.

At 12:45 p.m. Van Pelt called again. Peterson was in Austin, headed directly to Blatt's office.

At five to, Pete Barsocky and two helpers entered Blatt's office wearing extermination service uniforms and carrying spraying tanks. Blatt's staff cleared out. Pete's group stripped off coveralls to reveal business suits beneath. They hid the extermination equipment in a closet and manned the desks pretending to do paperwork or field calls. Sam Barsocky arrived on their heels and took Missy Bramer's desk. She warmly greeted Peterson a few minutes later and assured him she'd personally deliver his envelope to Blatt over the weekend.

Peterson left at 1:05. Sam donned latex gloves, opened his envelope, and looked over the enclosed materials. She snorted when she noticed the handwritten initials "WSP" on the backs of the photos. She practiced a few times, then forged the same initials on the photos Jane had given her. She put Peterson's bullet, the two rifling photos, and her practice forgeries in her purse. For good measure she photocopied the evidence bag label for Jane after substituting his bullet. She got a new padded envelope from office supplies, typed a new label, put Peterson's letter, the evidence bag, and Jane's rifling photos inside, and sealed it. For good measure she taped on a note saying the envelope had to be delivered to Blatt for the Monday hearings. The team gathered their things. Pete's group left first, followed by Sam at 1:15. Blatt's staff returned 15 minutes later, none the wiser.

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin, Friday Evening**

"Jane?" Lisbon tossed her keys and briefcase on the table.

"Here." Jane was lying out of sight on the couch.

"Hi." She greeted him with a kiss. "Go all right?"

"Perfect. -Did you ask about a referral?"

She kicked her shoes off. "Asked Tork first thing. He talked to Pike." She shrugged out of her jacket. "Think Pike asked around about Schultz and Peterson." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "_Then_ he agreed to refer Peterson. Memo went out around noon." She joined him in the kitchen. "Tell me what happened with Pete and Sam."

Jane filled her in as they warmed up left-overs. "...Bullet and photos," he finished, holding up the zipper bag and two pictures. "Matches the computer file photo for Abbott's weapon. We got it."

"Glad it worked out." Her eyes narrowed at Jane's pensive expression. "What?"

He tilted his head. "Abbott killed the cartel lieutenant _in Mexico_, right?"

"Think so," Lisbon said after swallowing a bite. "Why?"

"Look at this." He handed her Sam's photocopy of the evidence bag label.

Lisbon read the label and said in disbelief, "It was put into evidence _16 years ago?!_"

"If the guy was killed in Mexico, why does the US DEA have it at all?"

Lisbon chewed thoughtfully. After sipping her drink she said, "Peterson pulled strings to get that bullet to hold over Abbott. Talk about planning ahead."

Jane nodded. "What I think. Peterson recognized Abbott was going places, decided to keep a little insurance in case he needed a favor. -Seems our Abbott has good instincts. Got away from Peterson soon as he could."

Eyebrows raised, "_'Our'_ Abbott?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "You know."

She let it pass. "Abbott's off the hook. But I hate giving Peterson a pass."

Jane smiled lazily. "What do you suppose happens when Peterson publicly accuses Dennis Abbott at the confirmation hearing? Without the evidence to back it up?"

Her eyes shone and she grinned in pure pleasure. "The FBI brass'll be apoplectic at Peterson attacking their golden boy who solved Blake. Jane, that's wicked! –Hey! I thought Abbott wanted the bullet to disappear so Peterson would just drop it."

Jane smirked, "We don't always get what we want."

"Good thing _you_ get to tell him that."

"Maybe I won't. More natural reaction if he doesn't know."

Her forehead creased in worry. "Jane! You can't do that to him. Them."

He bit his lower lip torn between pleasing her and arranging the most dramatic reveal. "Compromise. I'll assure him the problem's solved, tell him to deny anything Peterson claims. –This will destroy Peterson's credibility. No one will even whisper that charge again."

"A-n-d Abbott is a hero wronged. He – they _both_ – will get great press for what will look like pure slander. Geez, Jane!"

He got up to clear the table. "Just call me Mephistopheles," he said, inordinately pleased with himself.

She elbowed him as she went to the sink. "I call you Trouble." Her smile tamed the bite in her words.

**National Park Near Austin, Saturday**

A vacationing family called 9-1-1 on Saturday afternoon from the national park. The park ranger called the FBI less than a hour later. Tork, Lisbon and Jane pulled off the park road and walked along a dirt road to a leafy clearing.

"Agents Tork and Lisbon, consultant Patrick Jane," Tork said flashing his badge upon meeting the ranger at the scene.

"Park Ranger Ayers," nodded the twenty-something Hispanic woman. "Thanks for getting here so fast. Two dead. Bullet through the heart."

Lisbon peered at the ground. "Looks like they were dragged. They didn't move on their own."

Squatting next to one corpse, Jane said, "Oh!" When the agents looked over he added, "Something odd." He pointed to the left hand of the woman – girl, really. "Missing fingernail."

Tork frowned, "Torn off from dragging?"

Jane walked over to the man and pointed. "No. Missing fingernail, same hand."

"O-kay! Murder and it looks like someone's taking souvenirs." The ranger turned a little green. Tork turned back to her, "Any problems in the park? Drug dealing, marijuana farms, anything serious enough for murder?"

Ayers took a breath and sidled around so she was looking away from the bodies. "We cleaned out a couple marijuana plots last year. Haven't been back so far as we know. This pull off is a popular spot for teens to park and make out. Um – oh! There is some poaching. Murder is a little extreme for a poacher, but you never know."

Tork gave her his notepad and pen. "If you could list the most active poachers so we can check them out. Lisbon, you're with me. Jane, go get Wylie started researching this couple." He flipped open the man's wallet while Lisbon pulled a purse from the car and found the woman's ID.

Jane glanced at the ID's and the car's license plate. "Got it." Before Tork could add the obvious he said, "And Wylie can search for any other murders with fingernails taken as a souvenir."

Tork nodded curtly. He thanked the ranger and promised to keep her in the loop.

By Monday Tork and Lisbon had eliminated the poachers as suspects. Neither Jane nor Wylie had turned up enemies for the dating teenagers nor a motive for their murder. Wylie hadn't found other murders in which a fingernail was taken as a souvenir. The ME's report confirmed the obvious - GSW as COD. They were dead in the water.

**Congressional Meeting Room, Washington D.C., Monday**

The gavel came down with a sharp crack at precisely 10:00 a.m. ET. The nine committee members, three journalists, and sparse audience quieted.

"This meeting of the Commerce Department Qualifications Committee will come to order," intoned Chairman Gordon. "First order of business is a motion to approve the transcript for last week's meeting. Do I have a second?"

A committee member raised her hand, "I second the motion."

"If there are no objections–" he paused, "-then the transcript is approved." He shuffled some papers. "The sole item on this morning's agenda is the confirmation hearing for Lena Abbott, nominee for Assistant Deputy Director for International Trade Negotiations. This position is of considerable importance to US international trade. Both extraordinary competence and indisputable integrity are essential. Each committee member will have 5 minutes to question the nominee. The committee will vote on the nomination when the committee reconvenes this afternoon." He turned to the nominee. "Ms. Abbott, please be seated. As your testimony is essential to our deliberations, you will testify under oath. Do you solemnly swear or affirm that the testimony that you are about to give - including the written biographical and financial material you provided the committee – is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do, sir."

"Then we may proceed. –Congressman Heston, you may start."

Dennis Abbott sat in the row behind his wife, his presence bolstering her poise and self-confidence for what promised to be an intense morning. The committee was split five-four, with the five members in the political party of the current administration favoring her confirmation. Lena Abbott had been working toward heading a multi-national treaty negotiation for years. It was within reach unless one act from _his_ past surfaced.

Questioning by the first three members went well but that meant nothing till she got past Congressman Blatt. Blatt had indicated his wish to have Texas DEA Director William Peterson testify. Jane's voice echoed in Abbott's head: _"Trust me_." Abbott was pained by the irony of depending on a con man and probable murderer to safeguard his wife's _reputation for integrity_. Jane promised Peterson would be discredited. Abbott hoped Peterson simply wouldn't show. Abbott leaned forward as Blatt began.

"Ms. Abbott, you've had an illustrious career with Commerce. As my colleagues noted, your technical competence and experience are exemplary."

"Yes, sir."

"With your background, you surely understand the delicacy of the position for which you've been nominated? Billions of dollars of trade could be lost, US companies or even whole industries could be disadvantaged if trade negotiations are mishandled. The pressure and temptations to compromise in ways against the best interests of American citizens and companies are always present."

"Yes, I do, Congressman Blatt."

"So the importance of the position makes unquestioned integrity a necessity. By being a nominee you present yourself as possessing integrity above reproach."

"Respectfully, I do, sir."

"Would you agree a nominee's close personal associates are relevant? That voluntarily consorting with people of questionable character would be a red flag? That helping cover up a serious crime would be a disqualification?"

Voice colder, "Yes, sir." Her clear voice overrode the murmur that rose among the public and journalists.

Blatt turned to the chair, "Chairman Gordon, Texas State DEA Director William Peterson is here to testify today."

Gordon's brow creased slightly, "Mr. Blatt, you have under a minute left of your time."

"My colleagues Jeffries, Sanderson, and Radbern will cede their time to me."

"Congressmen?" Gordon looked at the named members. "Let the record show Congressmen Jeffries, Sanderson and Radbern have ceded their time to Congressman Blatt. Five minute break for the witness to be seated. Ms. Abbott, you may take a seat to the right."

Lena Abbott gathered her things and moved to a table to the side then huddled with her boss and husband.

"Lena, we knew Blatt listed Peterson as a witness. You're sure his testimony can be countered?"

She and her husband exchanged tense glances. "I do, Ted."

"Blatt will come back at you afterward. You're under oath so be careful. If any accusations can be proven you're liable for perjury charges."

Dennis Abbott interjected, "And so is Peterson." He swallowed at the enormity of what one impulsive act of rage long ago had caused. "He will be discredited," he said firmly, hoping to God he was right.

"All right." Her boss turned back to Lena, "Don't let this get under your skin. We knew going in the other party will fight our trade agenda tooth and nail. Take a breather while Peterson says whatever he's going to say."

The meeting reconvened.

Gordon addressed the witness. "You are William Peterson, Federal Drug Enforcement Agency Director for Texas?"

"Yes I am."

"Do you solemnly swear or affirm that the testimony that you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

To Blatt, "Proceed."

"Director Peterson, how long have you been in the DEA?"

"Twenty-seven years."

"And how did you come to know Lena Abbott?"

"She's the wife of Dennis Abbott, who was a DEA agent working for me at the Rio Bravo Station in year 2000."

"You have information relevant to the character of Ms. Abbott?"

"Yes, I do. Evidence recently surfaced showing that Dennis Abbott assassinated Raul Caudillo in Mexico 16 years ago."

A wave of noise swept the room. Gordon's gavel sounded sharply. "Everyone be quiet or be removed." The Abbott's sat stone-faced and stone-still ignoring the stares. Deathly silence was restored. No one wanted to miss a word. Gordon turned to Blatt, "Congressman Blatt, before proceeding with such a serious claim, do you have evidence other than hearsay?"

Calmly, "I do, Chairman."

Gordon took a breath, lips pressed thin. "Continue."

"You term it an 'assassination.' Please explain."

"Raul Caudillo was a lieutenant in the Zeta drug cartel. He was shot in the head by a hidden gunman. Dennis Abbott's service weapon fired that bullet."

Blatt asked, "Is there any possible _legal_ justification for such an act? Was Caudillo killed in a drug raid or other law enforcement action?"

"There was no law-enforcement operation. It was murder, pure and simple."

"Do you have any reason to believe Lena Abbott knew about this alleged act by her husband?"

"Dennis Abbott requested a transfer to another state eight days after the assassination. I assume he'd have to tell his wife something."

"But you never spoke with either of them about it, correct?"

"Right."

"Do you have proof other than your statement?"

"This morning I gave you the bullet that killed Caudillo and two photographs of rifling marks. Chain of evidence protocols have been followed. The rifling matches Dennis Abbott's service weapon."

Gordon banged his gavel at another wave of noise. "Congressman Blatt, committee rules require evidence and reports be provided well before a hearing. Why was this not done?"

"I apologize for the irregularity, Chairman Gordon. Director Peterson only today provided me with these materials. Given their importance, I thought introducing them into our deliberations was necessary."

Gordon's eyes glittered icily. "You may proceed, Mr. Blatt. However, committee deliberations on this nomination will be suspended until these materials can be examined and, to the extent possible, their accuracy verified. Continue."

"Director Peterson, the assassination occurred 16 years ago. Why didn't this come to light sooner?"

"The Mexican authorities gave the DEA the bullet to help us determine who committed the act. It was in DEA evidence ever since."

"Why wasn't a match with Dennis Abbott's weapon discovered back then?"

"There was no reason to suspect a US DEA agent had anything to do with the murder. By the time we received the bullet, Dennis Abbott had transferred out. Only recently has the backlog of DEA evidence been computerized for easy searching and matching."

"Why did you come forward today?"

"A man who used to be one of my agents committed murder and should be prosecuted. His character reflects on his wife. Either she conspired to hide a serious crime. Or she is seriously lacking in judgment and insight as the wife of a murderer."

Blatt allowed himself a slight smile. "Thank you, Director. That's all."

Gordon spoke. "There will be a two hour recess. I will have copies of these materials provided to all committee members. I will also request the FBI's help in checking out the veracity of these materials. Adjourned till 1:00 p.m." His gavel sounded like a rifle shot.

The wave of noise was nearly palpable. The Abbott's, Lena's boss, and Gordon's administrative assistant huddled in a corner discussing steps to check out the evidence. Lena Abbott wore a frozen expression as she hung on to her composure by a thread. Gordon had the Capitol police take possession of Dennis Abbott's gun until a representative of the local FBI office could arrive to conduct rifling tests on the weapon. Fifteen minutes later, the FBI had come and gone. The Abbott's and Lena's boss would hole up in a nearly conference room to work out a strategy to counter Peterson's testimony, a strategy that would be pointless unless the rifling evidence could be discredited.

Dennis Abbott excused himself to visit the men's room. He took the opportunity to make a call.


	44. Chapter 44 - Problem Permanently Solved

**Chapter 44: Problem **_**Permanently**_** Solved**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted from The Mentalist _Byzantium_ episode script.

**San Francisco, Early Monday Morning**

The trim, balding man looked up as his new agent entered his office. "Kimball Cho?" he asked, rising from behind his desk and extending his hand.

Cho extended his hand, "Yes, sir, Agent McMerric–"

"-'Mac,'" he corrected. "And you go by–"

"Cho." Mac's extra 25 years hadn't blunted a sharp gaze or brisk manner.

Mac sat and motioned Cho to take a chair. Forearms on his desk with hands loosely clasped, he eyed Cho speculatively. "You worked for the CBI."

"Yes." Cho waited for the inevitable. _How long till guilt-by-Blake-association stops dogging me?_

"Minelli vouches for you." A corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile at Cho's suppressed startle. "We rubbed shoulders when he headed SFPD. –Forget Virgil. Your CBI team got Red John and uncovered Blake, right?"

"My boss Agent Lisbon's team. She's FBI now."

"And you planned the round up of Blake leaders a few months ago."

Not a question. Cho nodded his acknowledgment.

Mac gruffly said, "Abbott doesn't give commendations lightly. Retiring will be easier if my team's in good hands. Don Davis's been here almost as long as me, excellent agent. Our newbie rookie is just out of Quantico, lotta potential. One more position to fill."

Cho considered then risked asking, "Why so many – me, the rookie,_ and _a vacancy?"

"Danny Miyaki moved on to head a team and Art Hart went with him." Catching the question in Cho's eyes, "With my blessings. Good men who deserve their own team. An embedded tech position was just added so each team has their own." He glanced at a wall clock. "I've got a meeting. Don will get you set up, show you around, and start you on our current case."

"Yes, sir."

Mac let the "sir" pass and introduced Cho to Davis.

**FBI, Austin, Mid-Morning Monday**

Jane shifted on the couch to pull the vibrating cell out of a pocket. Seeing the caller ID he answered, "I'll call you back," and terminated the call. He rolled to his feet and was outside a minute later, carry-out tea in hand. He slid into his car and closed the door for privacy before returning the call. Jane put it on speaker so he could drink his tea while it was hot. Both avoided names or identifiers.

Mildly, "I take it the hearing is underway."

Taut with tension, "You said it would never surface!"

"Best way to play it."

Tightly, "_Why?_"

"Scandals generate press. You'll get a ton of attention–"

Bitterly, "–smearing my wife!"

Patiently, "The more attention the better. When the evidence proves false you'll be victims of slander and that rumor will be discredited forever. Problem _permanently_ solved."

Abbott struggled with warring emotions, relieved that Jane – apparently – hadn't double-crossed him, but pissed they were being folded, spindled, and mutilated in the hearing. Anger tightly leashed he said coldly, "You're a sonofabitch for putting her through this."

Jane's voice was bleak as a winter sun, "A few hours of anxiety is a reasonable price, considering. You let the SCU twist in the wind for months."

Abbott exhaled sharply. There was nothing he could say. He had done exactly that to people who were blameless – exemplary, even. "The evidence will be discredited?"

"Yes."

Finally, "I'll call after," and cut the connection.

Jane's cell chimed with an incoming text. He read it and hurried toward the FBI building.

**FBI, Austin, Mid-Morning**

A woman stepped out of the elevator trailed by a younger man. She approached the first person she saw, a lanky, near white-blonde male sitting at a desk.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

Hesitantly, "We were told to ask for Agent Tork?"

"I'm Agent Wylie. I'll take you to his office."

Wylie closed the door behind them, leaving the civilians in Tork's office.

Tork emerged fifteen minutes later. Urgently, "Lisbon, where's Jane?"

She was irked at still being seen as Jane's handler, but answered reasonably, "He's around. Haven't seen him for a bit." She tried calling him. "Goes to voice mail. I'll text him."

"Have him go to the lobby pronto. I want him to meet this guy." At Lisbon's raised eyebrows he added. "Claims to be a psychic. Just bullcrap or does he know something?" He smirked, "And not from visions."

After stalling as long as he could, Tork escorted the brother and sister down to the lobby. He caught sight of his resident thorn-in-his-side fake psychic. Unnoticed, a visitor standing near the reception desk looked curiously at the four. Sounds echoed and carried in the open marble-and-glass lobby.

"Jane. This is Gabriel Osborne and his sister, Ree Osborne."

"Patrick Jane." Jane nodded, still a half-dozen feet from the brother and sister. He threw Tork an inquiring glance as he approached.

"Mr. Osborne–"

"-Call me 'Gabriel'"

"–knows something about our recent double murder."

Gabriel expanded, "I saw the crime. In my head. The bodies were moved and the killer took something. – A, uh, finger? No, finger ... nail. He'll keep killing." The man by reception knelt and pretended to retie a shoelace. He surreptitiously took photos with his cell phone.

Jane smoothly picked it up. "I just want to ask you a few questions."*

Ree Osborne asked, "You're an FBI agent?"*

"He's not,"* her brother said, certain.

Jane scrutinized him intensely, "He's right. You – you know that because you're a psychic?"*

"No. Because I'm not stupid."*

"You know that because of the way I dress, my posture, the way I cut my hair. Any number of things."*

"What do you want from me?"*

"Well, I'm a student of the form. I just want to shake your hand."*

Gabriel didn't take his extended hand. "You think I'm a fraud."*

Voice hardening, "I don't _think_ you're a fraud. You _are_ a fraud."*

"Might just be looking at a reflection."*

Challenging, "So make a prediction for me."*

"So you can mock me?"*

"Maybe."*

"There's this thing inside you. It's eating you. Thing has lingered in your mind for many years."*

Dismissive, "It's called the human condition."*

"You'll be cured."*

Sarcastic, "Wonderful!"*

"The cure will come with the number 3."*

"Number 3. –Ah, that's it?"*

"I could embellish it but that'd be a lie. –Number 3. You'll know it when you see it."*

Jane called as they turned to leave, "Thanks for your time."* The Osborne's were followed out by the man near the reception desk.

Tork, "So what do you think?"*

"Well, he's obviously not a real psychic. But he knows what he's doing. Very smart, very controlled. Either that or he's an insane killer. I'd keep an eye on him."*

Tork shook his head as they took the elevator to the bullpen. Tork and Jane found Fischer, Lisbon and Wylie glued to a TV broadcast on Wylie's computer monitor.

Fischer motioned them over. "Look at this!"

Wylie tuned up the audio.

"_...Committee's hearing took an unexpected dramatic turn. The nominee's husband was accused of murdering an important drug cartel figure nearly 20 years ago. Stay tuned to KXAN for NBC news updates as this breaking story continues..."_ The camera drew back to show a crowd milling around outside a meeting room.

Wylie muted it when the broadcast returned to its regular daytime programming.

Fischer, "What the hell is going on?!"

Face sporting a puzzled frown, Tork asked, "What was that?"

"Abbott's been accused of murder by Peterson!"

"DEA Peterson? Where we just investigated in San Antonio?" Fischer nodded. Lisbon, Jane, and Wylie listened without comment. "I'll ask if Pike knows anything, but we've gotta keep tabs on this Osborne guy. –Wylie, learn anything?" The group reluctantly turned to the case.

Wylie pulled up a window on his computer. "Austin born and raised. Former bookstore clerk. No criminal record. Currently unemployed."*

"Not much to go on. It's suspicious he had information about the murders that hasn't been made public. Can't ignore that."

Lisbon, "Either he was involved. Or knew someone who was. –Or," with a sly glance at Jane, "he's really psychic." Provoked, Jane gave her the scornful look she expected.

"We need to stake this guy out." He ignored Wylie's hopeful expression. "Lisbon, Fischer, go sit on Gabriel Osborne. Let's make sure that–" he looked at Jane, "fake psychic isn't really a budding psycho. Wylie, keep digging. Jane – whatever." Tork left in search of Pike.

**Congressional Meeting Room, Washington D.C., Monday Afternoon**

Dennis Abbott, Lena Abbott, and her boss had used a vacant meeting room to talk over what to do about Peterson. With the hearing about to reconvene, they left the room. And stopped dead. During the recess a large crowd had gathered and was now spilling out the door. They caught sight of nationally known journalists. Murder and intrigue had just made the important but boring confirmation of an international trade negotiator headline material, sure to lead nightly newscasts.

"Jesus," Dennis said under his breath.

Fearful eyes gazed from Lena's frozen features.

"This way," her boss motioned. They entered the hearing room through another door.

"-Ms. Abbott-

"–Do you deny that–"

"–Agent!"

"–Any comment on–

"–Chairman Gordon!"

Journalists jostled and shouted, trying to get a comment or at least a good face-shot before the hearing resumed. The three seated themselves and resolutely ignored the noise and crush of press figures hungry for usable news scraps.

The crack of the gavel sounded twice, three times before the room quieted.

Calmly, "The meeting of the Commerce Department Qualifications Committee will come to order. The hearing on the nomination of Ms. Abbott will resume," stated Gordon. "I direct the attention of the Committee to two material packets before you. During the recess, copies were made of the materials Congressman Blatt provided relating to DEA Director Peterson's testimony. Also, Special Agent in Charge Stanley Withring of the D.C. FBI office conducted tests on FBI Agent Dennis Abbott's service firearm on a rush basis. The results are in the second packet before you. Agent Withring is available to provide expert testimony on both sets of materials. DEA Director Peterson is also available for further questions."

Gordon slid his set of materials to the side. "Committee protocols were violated by the way both sets of materials were submitted. The last minute addition of Agent Withring as a witness is similarly irregular. However, it appears that further consideration of this nominee – much less a vote – cannot proceed until the matter raised by Mr. Blatt is thoroughly explored. Therefore, I move that these materials and the addition of Agent Withring as a witness be accepted by the Committee despite the irregularities. Is the motion seconded?"

"I second the motion," responded a committee member from Gordon's party.

"So moved. Congressman Jacoby has graciously offered to cede his time to me–"

"I cede my time to Chairman Gordon," affirmed Jacoby.

"–Let the record so show. I will begin by asking DEA Director Peterson to provide further testimony. Director Peterson, please be seated." The room was silent for the minute it took. "Director Peterson, thank you for making yourself available this afternoon on short notice." Peterson nodded graciously. "Please be aware that you are still under oath."

"Yes, sir."

"I want to confirm the main points of your testimony from earlier today. I understand that Dennis Abbott was a DEA agent working under your supervision at the Rio Bravo Station in 2000. Mr. Abbott was married to nominee Lena Abbott then and remains so today."

"Yes, sir."

"Raul Caudillo, Mexican citizen and known drug cartel lieutenant, was shot and killed in Mexico in 2000. His murder was never solved."

"Correct."

"You allege that Dennis Abbott's service weapon fired the bullet that killed Caudillo. Your proof is the bullet recovered from Caudillo's body and the rifling marks from that bullet and the file photo of rifling marks from Dennis Abbott's service weapon."

"Yes, sir."

Gordon pulled the two original photos from Blatt's materials and had them handed to Peterson. "Can you confirm that these are the two photos you provided to Congressman Blatt?"

Peterson glanced at the front and then turned them over. "Yes. I initialed them on the back before I gave them to the congressman."

"You followed chain of custody protocol for the bullet from evidence?" Peterson nodded.

"If you could give a verbal response, please."

"Yes I did"

"You secured the photo of Dennis Abbott's service weapon rifling from the official government database?"

"Yes I did."

Gordon pulled two photos from the second materials packet and had them handed to Peterson. "Are these rifling photos the same as each other?"

"Yes, they appear so."

"Please compare all the photos. Do all four appear to be the same?"

Peterson's eyes narrowed and a crease appeared between his eyes. "I, um – The two sets are not the same." He looked up. "Two photos list the file identification as being Dennis Abbott's service weapon, but they're different." He angrily tossed them down. "The other set is fake. I printed the rifling photo for Abbott from the Federal data base myself!"

"Thank you Director Peterson. That is all."

"But –" Gordon stared at him, daring him to challenge the dismissal. Jaw clenched, Peterson got up and moved away from the table. He was pale under a tan baked in by decades of Texas sun. The committee clerk gathered the photos and returned them to Gordon.

Gordon then said, "I would like Agent Withring to be seated." Withering promptly took the seat at the table. Gordon looked up and tapped the gavel to silence the low murmur of conversation. "You are FBI Special Agent In Charge Stanley Withring, assigned to the Washington D.C. FBI field office?"

"I am."

"Do you solemnly swear or affirm that the testimony that you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"Did you conduct rifling tests on Dennis Abbott's service weapon earlier today?"

"Yes, sir."

Gordon had the entire second packet of materials handed to Withring. "Please describe the materials in your hands."

"These are the materials I prepared for the Committee. Two photos show rifling marks for a 9 mm SIG-Sauer P228. This is the standard DEA service weapon. The FBI has used it as well. Dennis Abbott's service weapon of record has remained the same since he started serving as a DEA agent in 1999. I printed the first photo from the Federal data base. The second is from rifling tests done on Dennis Abbott's weapon earlier today. An FBI forensics expert verified that they are the same. His stamp and signature are on the back of each photo."

"How do you know this is, in fact, Dennis Abbott's service weapon?"

"The serial number on the firearm I received today matches the serial number in the data base and shown on the data base photo. –The third photo shows the rifling marks from the bullet that was given to me in the evidence bag labeled 'Caudillo, raul - Cranial GSW 1 of 1, August 3, 2016.'"

"'GSW' is an acronym for–"

"Gun shot wound."

"Are all three photos identical?"

"No. The rifling for the bullet from the evidence bag differs from the others."

"In your opinion, is there any way the rifling marks could actually have been made by the same firearm?"

"No. The marks are grossly different, as attested to by this form signed by FBI forensics expert Sandra Mei."

"Do you know Dennis Abbott or his wife personally?"

"I have never met them. I am familiar with the name Dennis Abbott from his recent work in apprehending the corrupt Blake Association leaders."

"Agent Withring, this committee has been presented with two rifling photos, both of which are claimed to be from the Federal data base showing Dennis Abbott's service weapon. What is the Committee to conclude about the accuracy of these photos?"

"I printed the rifling photo for Dennis Abbott's service weapon, confirmed that it matches the rifling on the bullet I fired at 12:13 p.m. today, and verified the serial numbers in the data base, on the data base photo, and on the service weapon secured from Agent Abbott. I can only conclude that the other photo was falsified."

"Thank you, Agent Withring."

As the hearing droned on, Peterson and Withring left, plowing through media personnel illegally clogging the aisle.

Once in the corridor, the press nailed Peterson, greedy for juicy and embarrassing news.

"-Director Peterson, did you falsify evidence for that–"

"–Is it true you were investigated by Dennis Abbott for failed drug raids in Texas?"

"–Where did the fake photos come fr–"

"–Are you being investigated for taking drug money by th-"

"–We'd like an interview so–"

Peterson kept silent, teeth clenched shut. Press attention waned as it became clear he wouldn't comment. As he pushed his way through the crowd a man in a black suit approached. "William Peterson?"

"Get out of my way." Peterson angrily shouldered past. The angry exchange renewed press attention and the pair was quickly surrounded.

The man stepped in front of Peterson. "Mr. Peterson, the FBI requests you accompany me to answer a few questions." He brushed aside his suit jacket to show his badge.

"Go fuck yourself. I don't have to talk to you."

Under his breath the agent said, "Then we'll do it the hard way." Louder, "Mr. Peterson, I have a subpoena for your arrest–"

"You _what?!_" Crowd noise swelled, almost drowning them out. "The FBI trumped up this bullshit because I exposed murder by your agent." Peterson let the subpoena fall to the floor.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Come with me, please." The agent lightly took his arm, each of them shifting their feet to stay upright as the crowd jostled them. The agent finally addressed the crowd, "Official FBI business. Stand back!"

Peterson jerked away, face beet red and furious. When he continued to struggle, the FBI agent shoved him against the wall and cuffed him.

"You bastards! Abbott set this up, didn't he? You have _**no right!**_ I didn't do anything – what are the charges, you prick?"

Evenly, "Lying under oath, obstructing justice, and falsifying official government documents. To start." The agent pulled Peterson close and added quietly, "Bet the search warrant turns up more."

The corridor was filled and humming with voices. Press camcorders captured every detail. The first agent was joined by another to escort Peterson from the building and deposit him into a waiting FBI SUV. The crowd remained, open-mouthed and talking about the shocking developments in a normally boring committee hearing.

The rest of the hearing met expectations for staid and soporific. Lena Abbott's nomination was confirmed. On-camera, Congressman Blatt expressed his sincere regret that he was lied to, that false testimony had been provided by a government official! With the guidance of her boss, Lena Abbott provided a brief, scripted statement thanking the committee and promising to champion US trade interests in her new position. Dennis Abbott stated he was glad the materials Peterson submitted were exposed as false. He said it was the last time he would comment on ugly rumors regarding Caudillo. Aided by Lena's boss and a back door, the three escaped to anonymity, drinks and, eventually, a celebratory dinner.

The Abbott's reached their hotel room by 9 p.m., drained, stunned, glad, and – most of all – thankful the day was done. Lena claimed the bathroom. Dennis shucked his shoes and jacket, loosened his tie and dropped to the sofa, exhausted. He gradually became aware that a weight he'd carried for 16 years ... was gone. He wearily rose and got a drink from the room's mini-bar. The thought of never again worrying about Rio Bravo triggered relief so intense it was near pain. He sat awhile, getting used to a new, unusual lightness of mind, body, and spirit. Finally he pulled out the prepaid phone he'd picked up after dinner and placed the call.

**Osbornes' Home, Austin**

Lisbon and Fischer spent the afternoon in an FBI SUV parked outside Gabriel and Ree Osborne's house, waiting for something – anything – of note to happen. Ree Osborne soon left, probably for work since she was dressed in a nurse's uniform. They killed time by talking about the murder accusation of Abbott by Peterson. Lisbon let Fischer do most of the talking. Fischer resolutely maintained it had to be a set-up, that Abbott just couldn't have done it...

The boredom was broken when a young woman entered Osborne's house then left 15 minutes later. Fischer got out and questioned her, learning the woman thought Gabriel was crazy ... but right in matters of the heart. Gabriel had provided romantic advice, which was of zero use for their investigation. When Fischer rejoined Lisbon, that got them started talking about whether real psychics might exist.

By the third hour of stakeout duty, Fischer's hard and fast stance about Abbott softened. She acknowledged, based on bitter experience, that even good agents could make mistakes and that the law couldn't always deliver justice. Lisbon admitted her world had more shades of gray than it used to. She quietly declined to make any comment whatsoever about Red John. They agreed that the Washington mess about Abbott would somehow sort itself out, though based on vastly different, unspoken assumptions.

Talked out and still bored, Fischer checked the news on her smart phone.

"Holy- Look! "

Lisbon leaned over and saw streaming news video of Peterson being hauled away in cuffs. Dryly, "Seems Peterson's version didn't hold water."

Smugly, "Told you. I always thought Peterson was–"

"Look." Lisbon nodded toward the house.

Gabriel Osborne waved at them as he got the mail. He turned. And collapsed. The agents dashed to his still form. He was semi-conscious, mumbling with white froth spilling from his mouth. Still holding her cell, Fischer stood and called an ambulance.

Lisbon said, "Gabriel, relax. Ambulance will be here soon," checking to be sure he wouldn't suffocate or bite his tongue.

"Don't need – want – that," he gasped. Startlingly, his eyes opened wide, capturing her gaze. "Your fake – your boyfriend. Be careful-" His head rolled left and right from pain.

"Take it easy, it'll be okay. Help is coming."

He pressed his head with both hands, groaning in pain. "Killer will take him. I see red clay. White bones wrapped in red clay. You have to protect–" He fell unconscious.

A few minutes later they watched the ambulance drive away.

"Follow him to the hospital?"

Lisbon frowned. "Almost quitting time. Flynn's team is helping man the stakeout. I'll call Tork and have them meet Osborne at the hospital. I'd like to go back and debrief."

"Debrief what? Nothing useful."

Lisbon flexed her shoulders uneasily. "He said something about 'red clay and white bones.'"

Fischer grinned, "Believer now?"

Sharply, "No. I've been around Jane a long time and he said Gabriel's good at this. Someone that observant absorbs information like a sponge. Maybe Osborne picked up on something that he doesn't even know he knows."

Fischer tilted her head, doubting, curious. "That all he said?"

Dismissive, "He said the killer would take my 'boyfriend.'" Fischer raised her eyebrows and smiled a little. "And he used the word 'fake.' I can't put any stock in that, but maybe the red clay and bones thing is specific enough to check out."

"Whatever you say."

Tork and Jane were less than impressed with Gabriel's latest psychic vision. The team chewed over the red clay-white bones detail for awhile. They got more interested when Wylie identified a small, nearby area famous for the red clay used by local potters. Acknowledging that they had no better leads, Tork sourly agreed they would check it out with cadaver dogs the next morning.

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin**

Lisbon and Jane sat on the couch after eating take-out for dinner.

Jane looked askance at empty take-out cartons littering the tray and commented idly, "This stuff can't be healthful as a steady diet."

"Why not?"

"Sodium. Fat. Carbs from white rice, white bread."

She looked at him in disbelief and chided, "Mr. Dietician all of a sudden?"

"No, it's just that Angie–" he paused then continued, a little shaky. "Angie got all health conscious when–" he swallowed, "Charlotte started eating regular food."

"Jane." She rubbed his arm, unsure how to respond.

He sipped his tea, giving himself time to regain his composure. "Food's okay for now." He flashed a heart-stopping grin to deflect, one that failed to distract her for years now. "I just kind of ... fast forwarded a bit. When we have a home, make a real life together."

"Oh." After a moment, "We, um, we can make changes I guess. Whenever you want."

He took a deep breath and clicked the TV on with the remote.

"_...surprising development in the hearing today. DEA Director for Texas, William Peterson was arrested and taken into custody after his allegedly giving false testimony and providing falsified government documents. He and his attorney gave a brief statement denying all charges. Our San Antonio affiliate reports that his house was searched this afternoon and several boxes of materials were removed. We'll have more..."_

Lisbon watched, transfixed at the sight of Peterson being cuffed and hauled away in D.C. Appalled, she said, "They didn't have enough for that treatment. He's not a serial killer–" she winced and turned her head, then plowed on, "or anything."

"Lisbon. Dirty cop. Blackmailer. Incompetent. –He attacked the FBI's golden boy of the hour, very publicly, for maximum embarrassment. How did you expect the FBI to react?"

She sighed and shook her head. "What a waste. Greedy idiot."

"That he is."

"Hey. We done? I've gotta wash my hair tonight. Like to let it air dry."

He nodded, accepting and returning her kiss. She took the tray, loaded the dishwasher, and disappeared into her bathroom through the connecting door.

Jane turned the TV back on and was watching when he got a call.

"Jane," he answered without recognizing the number. "... Abbott, how the hell are you?" He clicked off the TV. " ... Yeah, saw the news. Looks like he reaped what he sowed. –Let me call back." Jane reached over and pulled the burner phone from his suit jacket laid over the couch. He put the return call on speaker.

"No more worries about Peterson or anyone else. –Congratulations to Lena, by the way."

Tiredly, soberly. "Peterson's discredited. No one will touch that mess after this."

Smile in his voice, "So you see my approach was best?"

Begrudgingly, "Helluva day, but ... yeah. Chalk one up for you."

"You'll take that position in D.C. now?"

"How did you know about – never mind. Yes, I'm taking the position. Lena and I will be in the same city."

"Wise. Nothing more important."

"Jane, – how did you do it?"

He countered, "You know the result. What do you think?"

Abbott released his breath slowly, mildly annoyed but unsurprised at the con man's wariness. "You switched bullets, substituted photos, and searched his house."

"Logical guesses."

"You won't tell me, will you?"

"Showman's first rule: Keep 'em guessing."

Abbott snorted, "I'd say 'con man's rule,' but that would be churlish, considering."

Smiling again, "Yes. Considering."

"As much as it pains me to say this - thank you."

"I need flexibility from you on something important to me."

Bluntly, "What?"

"We'll talk when you're in Austin. Don't worry, nothing unreasonable. 'Night, Abbott."

"Jane."


	45. Chapter 45 - Only Willingly

**Chapter 45: Only Willingly**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted from The Mentalist _Byzantium_ episode script.

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin, Tuesday Morning**

Jane stood at the bathroom sink with a towel around his waist after showering. He swished his razor clean and continued shaving. Lisbon brushed behind him to reach the other sink.

"Ow!"

"What?" he asked, attention snapping back to the present.

"Damn cap. Cold water, hot water, air." She adjusted the water to tepid then rinsed her mouth of toothpaste.

"No permanent cap yet?"

Sharply, "When have I had time, Jane?" After a beat, "Sorry. Dental pain is a bear."

"_Any_ pain." He resumed shaving. "You know," he said, stretching the skin taut for a close shave, "stubble is the 'in' look these days," wiggling eyebrows appealingly at her in the mirror.

"Not for you, buster. –That is, if you wanna get kissed."

"That's all my kisses are worth? Better step up my game."

"Just keep shaving."

He grunted and she focused on keeping eyeliner out of her eye. They fell silent. Lisbon nudged him when he was rinsing his razor again. "Penny for 'em."

"Hm?"

"What's got you thinking so hard?"

"Nothing... Gabriel's prediction."

"–Because?"

He scoffed, "'Number three – you'll know it when you see it'? Lame. I made better psychic predictions as a kid."

"So why's it bother you?"

"It's stuck in my head. Power of suggestion. Human brains find patterns even when there are none." He shaved his other cheek and continued with a wave of the razor. "One: Get Abbott off the hook so he owes me. Done. Two: Get Abbott promoted and get him to revise my contract. In the works. Three: Ditch the FBI and get on with our lives. Soon. See? Looking for 'three's' now."

"Oh." Anxiety flashed across her face then was gone.

He turned to her. "What?"

She shook her head a little. "Nothing. Just 'oh.'" She finished up and left.

**FBI, Austin**

Lisbon and Jane exited the elevator and headed to the break room.

"You know odds are the 'bones and red clay' won't pan out."

"We'll know when we get out there. After all, _you_ are why I think it's worth checking."

"Me?! I told you he's just reading people–" Jane broke off when he caught sight of Pike. "Ah, look at that," voice alive with interest.

"What?" Lisbon asked, looking around.

Jane motioned with his chin as Pike walked past. "Jaunty, satisfied, confident. Pike got the promotion."

Dubious, "Abbott's here till end of next week."

Jane shrugged, still watching Pike. "Just not official till then."

Tork poked his head in the other door. "Lisbon. Jane. We're meeting the cadaver dog handlers. Five minutes. Fisher and Wylie stay to check leads on the murdered couple." Lisbon stashed her things and poured her coffee into her travel mug. Jane just gulped most of his tea. Then they were on their way.

**Red Clay Area, Austin**

The dogs found the first body in 30 minutes; four more in two hours. Tork called in forensics as soon as the dog signaled the first body, which had been buried months ago if not longer. Tork had Lisbon and Jane canvass area businesses about anything unusual or suspicious while forensics painstakingly unearthed the corpses.

"Anything?" Tork asked when Lisbon and Jane returned.

"No. Too long ago, too general," Lisbon responded. Perking up at the sight of the fully-revealed remains, "They've made progress."

"Yeah. –Take a break guys," Tork called to forensics as the three of them approached the burial site.

Jane asked, "Any more than these five?"

"Nah." Tork glanced up at the brilliant sun. "Handlers are done today 'cause of the heat. Back tomorrow to check farther out."

"Five buried close together." Jane looked around. "Plenty of room for more. Surprising if there is another site."

"What I think," Tork echoed.

Trailing Tork and Jane, Lisbon muttered, "Sure. Now that Jane mentioned it."

"Looks like a new one was added every few months," Tork noted, taking in the varying stages of decomposition.

"Same apparent MO. Bullet to the heart," observed Lisbon.

"Here. Left hand on these bodies," Jane pointed to the most recently buried bodies.

Lisbon squatted next to him. "Fingernail removed." Wearily, "We're looking for a serial killer.*"

**FBI, Austin, Noon**

Tork's team gathered in the fishbowl to hash out the case over takeout. Everyone settled in and started to eat.

"Let's go over what we got so far. Autopsies for the five new bodies will take a while though the chest bullet wounds seem pretty obvious. Forensics did give me a rush read on the bullets." He glanced up as Pike joined them. "Boss, just going over the case. -Five victims. All killed with the same gun that killed Donnie Portman and Marie Brooks. All in the past year.* Each with a fingernail removed where we could tell, y'know, given decomposition."

"So there's no doubt it's a serial killer," Fischer said.

Lisbon added, "The first three victims had no ID's on them. That and the way they were dressed leads me to believe they were either homeless or drifters. Victims four and five were foreign exchange students that were reported missing two months ago."*

Jane tapped his fingers on the table. "No obvious connections. –Of course, we've barely started to look."

Wylie said, "I checked databases for the fingernail MO two days ago. No hits. Want me to consult the profilers at Quantico?" He looked between Tork and Pike. "They'll expand the search and see if there are any consistent patterns with the other victims.*"

Tork nodded. "Yeah, do it."

Fischer again, "What about the media?* Seven victims? Word will get out."

After a moment, Pike said, "Sit on it for now. Tork, next steps?"

"Gabriel Osborne took us to a field that had five bodies buried in it. If he didn't do it, he knows who did." Pike nodded his agreement.

Finished with lunch, Fischer volunteered, "I can bring him in."*

Pike rose. "Need to solve this one fast." Lisbon closed her eyes so she wouldn't roll them at the inane order. Pike looked around, gaze lingering on Lisbon a few seconds too long. "Get to it, agents."

**FBI, Austin, Afternoon**

Jane entered interrogation and sat, putting his tea on the table. He motioned, silently offering, but the other person shook his head.

"Hey. Heard you had a spell. How're you feeling now?"*

"Fine. I'm tired but I'm okay. ... Something different about you from last time we talked. You look lighter. Less conflicted. Number three. You saw it and found an answer, huh?"*

"Number three is incredibly common, Gabriel. You see it everywhere. Red clay? A little rarer but not much."* Jane laid out photos of the remains of five victims at the exhumation site.

Sounding ill, "I didn't wanna be right."*

"Of course you did."*

More emphatic, "I don't want to see these things. I don't ask for visions."*

Mocking, "Yeah, visions are a real drag. I know how you feel."*

Angrily, "You can't know how I feel."*

"I used to be you, Gabriel.*"

"What is that supposed to mean?"*

Jane leaned forward slightly. "You spent a year of your childhood struggling with an illness. That's when you learned to love to read. You used to play piano but you didn't like it so you quit. You're not half as unsure of yourself as you pretend to be."*

Sharply, "Who told you all that? My sister?"*

"Nobody. No one."*

"You're lying. You don't have visions."*

"No, I don't have visions and neither do you, Gabriel."*

"Why're you playing games with me?* I only want to help.*"

"Then start by telling me how you know what you know.*"

"I saw that the killer's going to kill again. Tonight. If you won't listen to me I'll tell everyone. I have to warn people!*"

"You can't leave."*

"Why not?"*

"Because I came in here to figure out if you are just a fraud. Or if you are a monster."*

"What did you decide?"*

"You have to stay here, Gabriel."* The door closed softly behind Jane.

Tork intercepted him a few yards from the room. "We didn't find anything in Gabriel's house."

"He's not breaking.* He's not lying.*"

Perplexed, "You sayin' he's a real psychic?"*

Equally perplexed, "No. I don't know what he is. We have to keep him here.*"

"Except you have no cause, agents," a man in a suit interjected. He walked up to them accompanied by Ree Osborne. "My client cooperated. You searched their house. You will now release him because you have no cause to hold him."

Pike arrived a moment later. "Let him leave," he said eyebrows furrowed.

"But–"

The lawyer's eyes narrowed, "Way I see it, after my client's efforts to help, you're holding him to show the FBI is _doing something_, that it has a 'person of interest' to minimize your embarrassment. Only problem? My client has done nothing."

Pike, Tork and Jane followed as the Osborne's and their attorney descended the main staircase to the lobby.

Tork caught sight of the crowd below. "What's all this?"

Pike replied glumly, "Press got wind of a serial killer. Ree Osborne sicced them on us for leverage to release her brother."

The three civilians paused a few steps from the lobby floor, using the step as a podium. The hum of voices swelled as the crowd caught sight of them. The three FBI men stopped mid-way down, resigned to media coverage they had very much wanted to avoid.

The attorney raised his hand, palm out, and the crowd quieted. "Ladies and gentlemen."* Louder, "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. My client Gabriel Osborne has been illegally detained by the FBI for attempting to help them capture a serial killer. A serial killer that's currently on the loose in Austin–"*

A particularly bold reporter called out, "Mr. Osborne! Mr. Osborne, we just need to know a few things. Do you–"*

The attorney spoke over him, "Let's have Gabriel tell the story in his own words."*

"I had a vision that helped them find five bodies today."* Noise swelled at confirmation of the number. "They don't have any suspects. The FBI thinks it was me. They want to frame me. They want to hide the truth. _There is a serial killer out there. He is a man with an evil heart and an appetite to kill._ He won't stop. He can't stop. And he's gonna kill again."*

The attorney stepped forward again and managed to speak over the hubbub, "That's all for now."

The Osborne's were shepherded away by their lawyer. Pike and Tork descended the rest of the way with Jane lingering behind. The press eagerly turned toward them.

Pike said loudly, "I will make a brief statement about the case. Please keep in mind I cannot share details on active investigations."

"-Is it true you have no suspects?"

"–Are you sure there aren't more–"

"–Why focus on Gabriel Osborne when–"

"Gentlemen!" Pike near-shouted. When relative quiet was restored, "A couple was found murdered in a nearby state park on Saturday. Mr. Osborne's – insight – led us to search the red clay area just outside Austin and five more bodies were discovered. The murders have the same MO. We believe they were murdered by the same person. That is all we can release about this case for now."

"–But!–"

"–How dangerous is–"

"–Does the FBI believe Gabriel Osborne is a psy–"

"–Why does the FBI employ psychic Patrick Jane if you don't believe–"

The last reporter aimed his questions at the man a few steps higher on the staircase, the one obviously not an agent. His cameraman focused on Jane and the group quieted upon hearing the new angle.

"We don't–" began Pike.

The reporter addressed Jane directly. "You're Patrick Jane, famous TV psychic from a while back, right? Your family was killed 13 years ago by serial killer Red John and there are rumors you helped get him in California. Are you now working with the FBI as a psychic?"

Jane gripped the railing, knuckles white. "I – I, uh–" he regained his composure, "I'm a consultant for the FBI. No connection to–"

Another reporter interrupted, "You're not law-enforcement, not a detective. You help the FBI with your psychic gifts, right?"

"No. I am a consultant who works with–"

"–Did your psychic abilities ID Sheriff McAllister as Red John? What do you see about this serial killer?"

Pike savagely told Jane, "Leave." He turned to the crowd. "Patrick Jane is a consultant under contract to help with investigations. No further comments." He and Tork turned their backs on the media and followed Jane to the second floor.

Jane disappeared before Pike and Tork got to the bullpen.

Tork, "Wylie, where's Jane?"

"Went home, I think. Said he didn't feel well." Wylie elaborated helpfully, "–He really _didn't_ look so good."

Pike ordered tersely, "Tork, make damn sure Jane doesn't talk to the press again. This media mess–"

Lira hurried up to Pike, "Excuse me, Agent Pike. Regional Director Schultz wants to speak with you immediately." Pike strode off, following Lira to his office. Tork disappeared into his.

Lisbon entered the bullpen and looked around. "Wylie, what's going on?" Wylie explained. He was startled by Lisbon's fervent, "Dammit all to hell."

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin, Evening**

It was past 11 p.m. Lisbon bolted the door and dropped the take-out bag on the table.

"Jane?" She walked through the rooms, first Jane's apartment – living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. Then she stepped through the connecting door between the walk-in closets – bedroom, bathroom, living room. "Jane?" He was seated in a side chair, silhouetted against her living room window by the faint glow from street lamps.

"Jane. Why are you sitting in the dark?"

He glanced over his shoulder, then back out the window. Neutrally, "Didn't want to advertise I'm here. ... In case a reporter dug up the address."

Clicking on a lamp, she sat on the chair's arm and rubbed his shoulder. "Heard about the press conference." She looked at him searchingly, uncertain of his reaction at being flung back into the public eye. _Pale. Tired – okay, it _is_ pushing midnight_. She looked closer. _ Depressed? Worse – _her breath caught. _–Why?_

"On TV. The internet. The tabloids. Probably tomorrow's front page."

Deliberately upbeat, "Hey. It'll blow over. I – I know you don't want all that dredged up again."

"Mm." He tilted his head. "You were staking out Gabriel?"

"With Fischer. Tork and Wylie have second shift. Art Squad, third." Making conversation, "Think anything's gonna happen?"

He rose. "Something always happens. Only question is what."

"I brought burgers. C'mon before the fries are cardboard."

Jane silently followed her to his kitchen. Lisbon got plates and let him divide the food. She popped a coffee pod into the brewer, dropped a tea bag in a cup, turning on the heat upon discovering the stone cold kettle. She sat opposite him.

She tried again. "It'll die down. Tork and Pike don't want publicity about any of that either."

"Tork texted. Four times." He made no move to unwrap his food.

Tentatively, "What's going on with you? There's something more than being blind-sided by the press."

Voice sere and desolate, "You didn't tell him."

"I – what?"

"Pike. You didn't tell him. He's interested, thinks you are too."

She sighed and shook her head. "Oh, that. We've had back-to-back cases. Never had the chance."

"Three weeks. That's not an accident. You don't _want_ to tell him."

Cutting tone, "There's _nothing_ going on between Pike and me."

"Not the right question." Jane leaned back, observing her closely. After a moment he pulled an envelope from the suit jacket he still wore. He tossed it on the table.

Forehead creased, Lisbon hesitantly reached and opened the envelope. Two tickets to London fell out for a flight a month hence. She blinked. "What's this?"

Sighing, "Our vacation after the FBI frees me."

Faintly, "Oh."

Jane leaned forward, intense gaze laying her bare. "The closer we get to being _able_ to leave the FBI, the more anxious, the more uncertain you are. Nothing's going on with Pike. But it could. If you wanted."

"Jane, that – that's crazy. I – I missed you, was dying in Washington after the Blake mess."

"You're out of Washington. Teresa, you can have everything you ever thought you wanted right here. FBI position. Big cases. Your own team in a year or so. Pike–"

"–Jane, I–"

Sharper, "Hear me out! Pike or some other generic square-jawed, square-headed agent. Solid. Predictable. Two-point-three kids and a government pension in 20 years." Softly, "There's nothing wrong if that's what you want. We both know that I'll never be that man. _What do you want, Teresa?_"

She slumped, then straightened a second later. Angry now, "I'm a cop, Jane. Everything fell apart with the CBI. It _feels_ like that again."

Jane roughly shoved his chair back. He walked around, pulled her up and hugged her tightly. He eased his embrace to look her in the eyes. Quietly, "This change is on your terms. _You_ said you don't want the FBI. Try something different. Don't like that? Then change, join up again - FBI, CIB, whatever. Life is a feast but you have to want it. I can't make up your mind."

She pulled back. "I can't count how many times you've changed my mind!"

Hoarsely, "Not on this. I love you, want to spend my life with you. But willingly, _only_ willingly. We can't build a future on a trick. You have to–"

Her cell phone sounded, startling both. He released her and turned away in frustration. She glanced at the screen. "I have to take this."

Facing her again, "Of course. You're a cop." His smile was as ironic as it was painful.

"Lisbon. ... We'll be right there." She turned to Jane. "Ree and Gabriel Osborne are missing."

Jane's focus jerked back to work. "How? Are Wylie and Tork okay?"

Jane followed as Lisbon grabbed her keys and weapon. "Wylie was attacked, guess he's okay. Know more when we get there."

**Osbornes' Home, Austin**

Squad car lights flashed blue, red, blue, red. Yellow crime scene tape already cordoned off the house and driveway from the half-dozen neighbors who'd ventured outside.

An Austin cop was telling Tork, "...neighbor girl heard something when she came home, maybe an intruder. She ran into her house and called 9-1-1. We got here ten minutes after her call."

"And?"

"Checked out the house. Door was standing open, but no signs of a struggle."

"Where's the g–"

"Over there." The cop pointed to a girl trembling under a blanket near an ambulance. Wylie sat on the bumper, rubbing his head as he talked to the EMT.

"Thanks." Tork walked over to question the girl.

Lisbon and Jane arrived in time to hear the cop's report. After glancing at the girl, Jane entered the house followed by Lisbon. Every light was on.

Passing through the kitchen into the living room he murmured, "No struggle but they didn't leave on their own." At her questioning glance he explained, "Just one of her nurse's shoes – who takes off just one?"

"Kick one off here, another in the bedroom maybe?" she argued.

"Not someone this orderly." The kitchen was almost obsessively clean and neat.

They continued into the living room. The TV was on. Jane pointed to the lamp still on next to the recliner. The remote was on the floor under the side table.

"Intruder follows Ree in and overpowers her, maybe with chloroform. Quiet enough so Gabriel doesn't notice while he's watching TV in this recliner." Jane looked back to the kitchen. "His back's to the kitchen door. Intruder surprises him from behind and chloroforms him as well."

Lisbon nodded. "Reclined like that it'd be hard to fight someone off. Gabriel didn't seem particularly strong." She frowned. "I'll see if that girl saw anything to give us a lead on how to find them."

"I'll look over the rest of the house."

Lisbon intercepted Tork. Hopeful, "She see anything? A lead?"

"No." He exhaled sharply in frustration.

"You and Wylie didn't–"

"No. I made a circuit of the outside while Wylie watched the door. When I came back Wylie was unconscious on the sidewalk and the Osborne's were gone. My fault for putting a tech guy in the field, dammit." Tork broke off to talk to the forensics team that arrived. With luck, they might find fingerprints from the intruder – kidnapper. Even more luck would be needed for a match with prints stored in law-enforcement databases.

Lisbon approached Wylie, who held an ice pack against the knot on his head. "You gonna be okay?"

Glumly, "Yeah." He sighed, "I don't think I'm cut out for the field."*

"This is rough work. You get banged up every once in awhile."*

He looked at the small, fierce woman and reluctantly admitted, "I don't think I can do this."*

"Do you want to?"

He bit his lip. "Thought I did."

"You want to go back to the office and answer phones?"*

Wylie shook his head then frowned as that aggravated his headache. "No. No, I want to stay. What can I do here?"*

"You can put together a description of your attacker."*

"I don't know if it was Gabriel or someone else who attacked me. And now Gabriel's gone."*

"Jane's inside. Go see him."*

"Why?"*

"Just go."*

Jane looked up when Wylie entered the kitchen. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just banged up a little."

"Notice anything about your attacker?"

"I – Nothing other than it was a man."

Jane sat Wylie down. Soothingly, "Just close your eyes. Breathe in. ... And out. ... In. ... And out." After Wylie had relaxed, "What did you see out of the corner of your eye? Keep your eyes closed, just let it come to mind."

"Nothing. I didn't see anything."

"Be still. Think back. What did you hear? Voice? Type of vehicle? Anything?"

Wylie's face crumpled in a combination of pain and dismay. "I didn't hear anything. I'm sorry I–"

"Hey. It's fine. Keep them closed. Relax. –You smell something, maybe just faintly."

Puzzled, "Uh. Yeah, I did."

"Can you tell what it was?"

"Not sure."

"Does it remind you of anything?"

Doubtfully, "Something like my uncle's fishing shack."*

"Fish?"*

"No, he mainly went there to drink."*

"What did he drink?"*

"Beer."* A hint of recognition, "Spilled beer."*

Jane patted his shoulder. "You did great."

Jane joined Lisbon and Tork. "Wylie smelled beer, stale beer."

"Bar?" asked Tork.

Jane shook his head. "If it was a bar, there'd be cigarette smoke, the smell of hard liquor too. –Someplace so saturated the attacker's clothes would pick it up."

Overhearing, the Austin cop said apologetically, "There's an old brewery near here. Closed years ago. Stinks to the heavens inside."

Jane looked at him curiously, a glint of humor in his eyes. "You know this how?"

The LEO cleared his throat, "Messed around in there with my buddies when we were in high school."

"Thank you," Jane answered with a grin.

"Address?" Tork asked.

**Brewery, Austin**

It was past midnight when the FBI team arrived outside the abandoned brewery, Fischer having belatedly returned from an out-of-town date. Austin police provided the extra manpower needed to secure the large site. Several outbuildings had already been cleared without turning up anything of interest. Police established a secure perimeter and then the team minus Jane silently filed inside the cavernous brewing building. Flashlights pierced the gloom with slender fingers of light. The sour smell of stale beer hung heavy. Someone tripped over debris, shattering the silence as metal clattered on concrete.

The Osborne's were soon found. Tork quickly verified both were dead. The team finished methodically clearing the facility, hoping to find the killer, needing to ensure it was safe. Nothing. The lead cop waved Jane inside after being radioed by Tork.

Flashlights lit Gabriel Osborne's corpse as it gently swayed, hanging from a beam by his arms bound at the wrists. Blood soaked his shirt from the bullet wound to his heart. Red rivulets had run down his arms and dried. "FAKE" was carved into the skin of his left forearm and one finger was bloody where a fingernail had been pulled off. Ree Osborne lay nearby, still tied to a post. A bullet through the heart obviously killed her as well.

After Tork called for forensics he said, "Same MO. Gunshot wound COD and missing fingernail."

Lisbon offered, "Some differences. Gabriel was tortured first."

Fischer added, "The killings are more frequent. This makes four in one week." The group exchanged glances, appalled at the realization.

Wylie asked, "And why the word 'fake'?"

Jane commented expressionlessly, "Apparently our killer doesn't appreciate psychic frauds."

Tork, "Why would he care?"

"What else was Gabriel known for? He wants one for some reason and Gabriel didn't pass the test.* Of course, corroborating evidence would be welcome."

Squatting next to the woman's body, Lisbon said, "–Which we may have. Look." She pointed to the crook of Ree Osborne's right arm. "Doesn't that look like the puncture wound an IV makes?"

Wylie asked, doggedly maintaining his composure, "The killer put something in her? Poison?"

Jane, "Or took something out."

"Blood? What – what could-" Wylie paused then offered, "Uh, there are kinky groups on the net that are into vampirism and other occult things that ... require human blood."

Tork looked at his watch. "Call it a night. We'll go over it tomorrow first thing. Maybe forensics will find something useful." He looked around, "_Nothing_ to the press." He jabbed at Jane with his index finger, "You especially."

Lisbon and Jane rode back in silence. Tuesday had been a hell of a day.


	46. Chapter 46 - Psychic!

**A/N: I hoped to get further with this chapter, but unfortunately ended up with something of a cliff-hanger. More soon...**

* * *

**Chapter 46: Psychic!**

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted from The Mentalist _Byzantium_ or

_Brown Shag Carpet/White Orchids _episode scripts.

**FBI, Austin, Early Morning Wednesday**

"Media are pushing this story hard. Serial killer. Four dead in one week including the psychic. The local paper's insinuating we _let_ him get killed because he embarrassed the FBI." Pike locked eyes with Tork. "Rick, this is your make or break. Solve it _now_ and you've got the job. It drags on or goes cold, there's no way Schultz approves hiring you."

Tork pressed his lips tight. "Got it, Marcus."

"What help do you need?"

Tork replied unhappily, "Problem is lack of leads, not manpower at the moment."

"Get to it, then."

Tork left to go over the autopsies, case notes, everything before meeting with his team first thing.

Pike rubbed his face, tired before the day even started. He _wanted_ Rick to get the job, but Tork'd have to do the heavy lifting. Pike was at capacity getting familiar with all Austin teams and cases. He wouldn't jeopardize his promotion to hold Tork's hand. Pike rose to get coffee and start his daily rounds. He noticed a slight, comely figure at the window when he entered the bullpen. Pike stood alongside, looking down at TV satellite trucks and reporters in the parking lot. Most agents brushed past and refused to comment, so reporters nabbed the 'man-on-the-street' who predictably thought a serial killer at large was a terrible thing. _What a surprise._ "Circus out there."

Lisbon glanced at him. Dryly, "Yeah. High profile case," thinking of McTeer and Red John.

"It's mostly the serial killer. Jane's history doesn't help."

She tensed but neither commented nor looked away from the window.

Reaching a decision, Pike moved a half-step closer and said, "You don't have to be tied to that circus – to Jane." He couldn't see her frown. "I think you're a good agent." He generously added, "Tork thinks so too."

Now she did turn. "Yeah?"

Pike mistook her half smile for pleasure. Earnestly, "Really. You could have your own team in a couple years. I'd get Jane transferred, out of your hair and mine." Lisbon stared at him without expression. "Think about it," he said with a warm smile. Pike walked away.

Lisbon stared at his back, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. She rubbed her temples at the sudden headache.

"Lisbon. Wylie," Tork barked. "Get the others and let's get started. Fish bowl."

Team members seated themselves around the conference table. Jane took a chair last.

Tork began, "Four dead this week, nine total. Forensics matched the rifling from the bullets that killed the Osborne's to the others. Two fingernails ripped off, same as the others. This serial killer's more active than ever. And we got the press on our asses. Austin is freaking out and this case even made national news. What do we know?" He looked at Fischer to start.

She skimmed her notes. "The oldest body was Gordon Jeffers, a homeless African American man from Austin, late 50's, disappeared about a year ago. Two TABC store clerks in the South Congress area recognized the computer reconstruction of facial features. The next oldest corpse, was Samuel Sutherland, 68, Caucasian, also homeless. He disappeared about seven months ago from Southeast Austin. His food stamps card gave us the ID. Next, dead about four months, was James Green, age 47, Caucasian drifter from Omaha. He had a stolen credit card hidden in the sole of his shoe." She looked up. "Plastic card, plastic shoes; didn't rot. That linked him to some B&amp;E's. There was a warrant out for his arrest. Next, dental records gave us positive ID's on the last two from the burial site, Jorges Ortega and Maria Juarez, ages 20 and 21. They were foreign exchange students from Guatemala who went missing two months ago. College students Portman, 19, and Brooks, 18, both Caucasian, were killed Saturday at a make-out spot in the park. Gabriel and Ree Osborne last night makes nine." She looked up. "I've talked to relatives and friends. No apparent connections among them. The killings are coming faster–"

"-And more reckless." Jane said slowly, "These look like murders of convenience-"

"–Hold that thought, Tork interrupted. "Let's get the rest of the info on the table first. Lisbon, what do you have?"

"Each victim was killed by a gunshot wound to or near the heart. A fingernail was taken from each, so far as decomposition allowed us to tell. After last night, I checked back and each had a puncture wound in the crook of the elbow, like for donating blood. I mean, the recent ones. The buried victims we couldn't tell, the bodies are decomposed.* Too soon for autopsy results on the Osborne's, but the tox screens on Portman and Brooks came back negative." She looked up. "That suggests the killer _wasn't_ injecting anything."

"Which brings us to you, Wylie. You check with Quantico? And what was that on the Internet about using human blood?"

The lanky blonde hurriedly swallowed two ibuprofen with his drink then spoke. "Quantico can't detect a pattern among the victims either. The MO doesn't match murders in any other databases. –I, uh, spent some time on the net last night to see why anyone would want human blood." He colored faintly. "There's some theories on line. The most popular theory is he's a vampire ... of some sort."*

Tork exhaled in annoyance, "Not sure that's helpful."*

Jane mused, "Maybe it is–"*

Wylie, "Really?!"*

"Well, he is taking blood from a corpse.* And he has to work for it – not as easy as ripping off gruesome trophies. He must need it for something.* That would explain the absence of connections between the victims, the lack of a pattern. The murders aren't driven by _who_ they are so much as _what_ he needs from them: Blood."

Tork, "Ignoring the vampire crap, think it's connected to the occult?"

Lisbon said thoughtfully, "He believes in psychics, that's why he went after Gabriel.* That's why he was – offended? – disappointed? enough to carve 'fake' in his arm."

Wylie offered, "I can search for stores that sell stuff related to the occult here in Austin. Maybe they have, mailing lists, records of seminar attendees, repeat customer discounts, whatever. It's got to be a pretty specialized interest so maybe they all know each other."

Glad to have another angle to tackle, Tork ordered, "Wylie, go ahead with that. Fischer, check out whatever he turns up. Lisbon, you and Jane talk to Austin PD. See if they have anything on local cults–*"

Jane interjected, "–and non-traditional religions."

Tork glanced at him in irritation and continued, "–and ask Homeland Security if they have anything useful in their databases on the occult angle.*" Then he looked at Jane. "If he's interested in psychics, you could lure him out."

Face absolutely expressionless, "Uh, not a psychic.*"

"You can fake it, right?* Hell, you're already all over the media as 'the FBI psychic.' You could say you can communicate with the afterlife using your spiritual – whatever.* If he's into that he'll show himself if you're–"

"–_Bait!_" Lisbon finished with a frigid glare. Scathingly, "Let's round up some fortune tellers too and make it irresistible! What part of 'Jane. Is. A. Civilian.' doesn't compute, Tork? Our perp's killed nine - aiming for ten?"

Looking decidedly ill, Jane said, "I'm right here, guys. You can talk to–"

"–Can it, Lisbon," Tork said angrily, rising and leaning over the table toward her. "The Son of Sam killer sent letters to two of the writers who wrote about him.* This kind of thing really worked!*"

Fischer said quietly, "Last time Jane tried something like that it didn't go well."

Tork stopped dead. "Oh." He licked his lips. "The wife and kid."

Jane abruptly rose and left. The door banged gently against the wall.

Lisbon echoed into the silence, "Yeah, the 'wife and kid.'"

**Austin, Wednesday Afternoon**

Tork gathered the team at the end of the day for an update. Everyone filed in and sat, carefully acting like the morning hadn't happened.

"Wylie?"

"I found some exclusive chat rooms devoted to the dark side of the occult world – 'black arts.' They're all anonymous. After I told the SIG's–" at Tork's raised eyebrows he added, "–special interest group hosting sites they'd have to release _all_ the names if I got a warrant, they agreed to give me real names and contact information for any 'guests' within a hundred miles of Austin. Press coverage on the killer actually helped get their cooperation."

"Any names?"

Wylie nodded. "Three." He handed the list to Tork. "Fischer and I also checked Internet listings related to the occult in Austin. Two-dozen hits. Jewelry, life counselors, bookstores, wholistic healing, tarot card readings," Tork motioned impatiently for him to get to the point and Wylie hurried to finish, "massage salons – real massage, not a, uh, euphemism, - and, products used in magic and occult ceremonies and potions. We narrowed the list to the handful that actually sells things and Kim checked them out."

Fischer picked it up. "I went to four shops. The owner of the last one, _Exotic and Rare Occult Products_, said some customers buy sacrificial animals for occult ceremonies. She gave me a list of customers interested in human blood in return for 'fixing' a citation for inhumane treatment of livestock. She gets expired human blood from blood banks. She did say one guy – no name – had stopped by a couple of times. He wanted fresh human blood, no older than a few hours. Creepy."

Interest piqued, "Description? Anything?"

Fischer grimaced. "General. She's extremely near-sighted but doesn't wear glasses because they don't fit her 'image,'" she said sarcastically. "All she could give me was Caucasian male, 30-to-50, brown and brown, clean-shaven, average height, average weight, ordinary clothes. Drives a red pick-up. Comes in every few months."

Lisbon asked hopefully, "Credit card receipt? Security camera?"

Disgruntled, "Pays cash. The recording over-writes every two weeks."

"Figures," Lisbon said under her breath.

Tork waved at Lisbon and Jane. "What did you get?"

"Jane and I checked with the PD. They mentioned occasional calls about animal sacrifice, but nothing on human blood. They gave us the names and locations of seven leaders of fringe religions."

Jane reported, "The seven have small followings – no more than 20. They know their followers well. All are convinced none of their followers could be a serial killer."

Skeptically, "They're sure, huh?"

Jane shrugged, "They were telling the truth. _So far as they know_, no one in their groups is our man. A loner would fit a serial killer profile better than a joiner. If we push we can get lists of the followers but it's probably a dead end."

Tork sat back, frustrated and disgusted. "So we got a 'Mr. Average" driving a red pick-up in Texas who's worth checking out except we can't find him. We have a list of customers who buy expired human blood. And we have three names from a freak chat room. Okay, tomorrow we check out the names. You check back with the kook religious leaders and ask if anyone drives a red pick-up. A-n-d, I am open to suggestions." He looked around and noted how tired they were from the previous night. "Get a good night's sleep. This'll be intense till we catch the wacko and we damn well better do it soon."

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Wednesday Evening**

Jane followed Lisbon in and closed and locked the door. She put on coffee and tea without saying a word. Still tired from Tuesday, Wednesday had only added to it.

Getting home had been a nightmare. Reporters in the FBI parking lot were determined to get something from the latest hot media target – Patrick Jane. Despite refusing to comment and keeping his head down to foil good photos, the crowd made it impossible to get to their car till Lisbon took lead and elbowed her way through. The small, slight woman made it unlikely any reporter would formally complain regardless of sore ribs, bruised ankles or stepped-on toes. Driving to their apartment took twice as long because Lisbon had to lose two reporters who tried to tail them.

Lisbon set their drinks on the table and sat opposite Jane. She regarded him soberly, finally spoke. "Gabriel's suggestion is messing with my head." Jane looked up, eyebrows raised in silent query. "Thought his 'number three' prediction might refer to our wanting a baby. My period started today."

He shook his head biting his bottom lip. "That's – I'm sorry."

She said harshly, "Stupid," and sipped her drink, wincing as hot coffee hit the temporary crown.

"No, no it isn't. We can't help reacting to something like that."

She didn't know whether the "like that" was the suggestion ... or another failed month. The moment of silence dragged till both started at once

"–You know, I–"

"–Lisbon, we –"

Their laughter finally lightened the moment.

"What, Teresa?"

"You go first."

He took a deep breath. "We should talk about the FBI. Future plans." She nodded, face expressionless. "Look, I was working on the assumption you wanted out of the FBI. I expected the idea of having a child might be ... difficult. Didn't expect leaving the FBI would be."

She looked away, sipped more coffee before responding. "I feel like I'm stepping off a cliff. Free fall." She shrugged. "I've thought about having kids. I know I can handle that–"

He tilted his head, "–Even as an agent?"

"Well, yeah. There are policies covering pregnancy and maternity leave. I've talked with friends – women – in law enforcement who've done it." She caught his gaze, "And I know without a shadow of a doubt you will be a good father. Again."

Jane blinked in pleasure/pain. He unexpectedly rose and put left over sweet rolls in front of them, figuring the sugar spike would ease both mood and fatigue. He sat again, puffing his cheeks out as he exhaled slowly. "Teresa, this will be on your terms. _You_ are in control, here."

A line appeared between her eyebrows. "You patronizing me?"

"No. This is easy for me, I _want_ to chuck the bureaucracy. It's different for you. –Talk to me."

She licked her lips uncomfortably then spoke. "I've worked since I was 15, had to. When the CBI fell apart _I couldn't even get another job_," she said intensely.

Slowly, calmly, "Do you see it's different now? Blake is over, has blown over. Hightower's already offered you a job, right? Minelli has contacts. Mancini. Even Abbott would give you a glowing recommendation now." He ducked his head to look into her eyes.

She took a deep breath. "Maybe." She caressed his cheek. "I need to think about it." She rose, "Dinner?" Conversation over.

They turned in early after the day's emotional beating.

**FBI, Thursday Morning**

Morning brought more bad news. Pike had Lira pass along three daily papers to Tork, each headlining the serial killer. Two carried front-page stories about Garbriel Osborne and mentioned the Patrick Jane angle. The press had rediscovered the Red John case and had begun comparing the two serial killers. The case saturated local TV and radio.

The previous evening a man scavenging trash cans was shot after being mistaken for the serial killer. A sleeping woman home alone was woken up by banging by the side of her house. Fearing someone was trying to break in, she grabbed her gun. There was no answer when she called out and she shot through the door. The scavenger didn't speak English. The Austin PD was being flooded with calls from citizens fearing the serial killer. Tork requested the call log and had Fischer start double-checking to verify that there was no connection to their target.

Tork's team pursued the leads identified the day before. Three followers of the fringe religions drove red pick-ups but were ruled out. One was a 70-year old woman, one was severely disabled with rheumatoid arthritis, and the third had been deployed overseas in the military till six months ago. Fischer and Tork ruled out two of the participants in the occult black arts chat room because they had iron-clad alibis for one or more of the murders. The remaining participant looked promising ... until his "real" name and address proved to be fake – someone who had died a decade earlier.

The day got worse.

**Austin**

A landscaping employee reported the front door of a home standing open – especially suspicious with the day's sky-high heat and humidity that foretold of rain. The PD checked and discovered another victim. The FBI team arrived and trooped into the living room to the body.

Having arrived first, Fischer read the notes she took from the first-responder LEO. "Susan Hermann, gunshot wound to the chest apparent COD. ME says TOD was sometime between 11 pm and 1 am last night, one fingernail ripped off. Her husband is away, neighbor wasn't sure if it was business or personal travel."

Tork looked down at the corpse. "Didn't hide the body. Left her where he killed her."

Jane said, "He's getting bolder.* He knows we're on to him and left her out for us to find.*" Jane moved away to look over the house, keeping within earshot of their speculations.

Fischer pointed to the woman's arm. "Another puncture wound. This is a residential area and it takes time to drain blood from a corpse. Definitely taking bigger risks."

Lisbon said seriously, "Bigger risks, murders closer together, three recent double murders. He's ramping up to something–"

Jane pivoted, gripping a framed photo, "Where's the daughter?"

"Daughter?" Fischer said with a frown.

"In all the family pictures!"

Lisbon pried the frame from his hand and the agents crowded around. A blond, blue-eyed girl of five looked out from the collage of photos. A strong family resemblance left little doubt it was the couple's daughter.

"–Oh god–"

"-Sonofa–"

"–We didn't know there was a–"

Hand against the wall, Jane staggered a step till he regained his equilibrium. He dashed up the stairs.

"Lisbon!"

She found him lying on the floor peering under the bed in what was obviously a little girl's room.

His voice calm and soothing, "Come out, sweetheart. The police will keep you safe. Your father will be home soon to take care of you..."

Two hours later the team was headed back to the FBI. The girl had been asleep upstairs during the murder. She discovered her mother's body in the morning and hid when the police and others came. The woman's husband arrived an hour later. His reaction ground home the devastation the serial killer was inflicting on Austin.

**FBI, Austin**

The team glumly regrouped a little before quitting time as the bullpen was emptying out. Lisbon pulled the lid off her steaming take-out coffee as Tork began to lay out the next steps. She had taken the five minutes for a drive-through mainly to get tea for Jane. The girl's resemblance to Jane's murdered daughter and his initial fear she was killed had hit him hard.

Lisbon took a mouthful of coffee. Her agonized scream, "**Arrgh!"** shocked everyone. She clutched her face, reacting to searing pain, head bent over her desk. Jane hovered, unsure what to do as she moaned and rocked back and forth in agony.

"What's wrong?!" demanded Tork. "Lisbon, what is it?"

Trying to regain her composure, she sucked in air and instantly moaned and grabbed her cheek again.

Jane answered while rubbing her arm in a useless attempt at comfort. "She has a temporary cap. Needs to be fixed _now!"_

Tork looked at Jane. "Call her dentist and get her in." To Wylie, "Call a cab – she can't drive in this much pain."

Jane looked up from his call and said, "Dr. Zelazny can squeeze you in. Let's go."

"Jane, I need you on this case," Tork ordered.

Jaw clenched, Jane stopped in his tracks, "I–

"–No!" Lisbon managed. "Cab's fine. Stay and get the bastard. Can't do anything at the dentist anyhow." Tears glittered at the corners of her eyes.

"Cab'll be here in five," Wylie reported.

Jane took a breath. He took her arm as she unsteadily headed to the elevator. "Be right back," he threw over his shoulder.

Jane returned ten minutes later, just in time to catch the tail end of Pike's address to the team.

"...city's in a panic. Whatever it takes, you _will _catch this killer and you _will_ do it soon. Tork, tell me what you need. Blank check." Tork stood silent and shamed. Pike turned and left. Now after hours, the floor was deserted except for Tork's team.

Tork gathered Fischer, Wylie and Jane around.

"What do we have? What next?"

Fischer shook her head and spread her hands. "Stake out that occult shop. Find out how he paid his internet bill and see if we can track him even though his name and address are fake. If he pays with a check, maybe we can get a print."

"Get on it."

Wylie looked down and said, "I can look into the abandoned house. Owner died ten years ago, so it'll be slow. Maybe we can do more on the PD log of callers who thought they saw the killer. Real long shot though."

"Go ahead."

"Jane?"

Jane frowned, mouth a grim line, and shook his head.

Tork turned and paced in frustration then wheeled and pointed at him. Angry, "You _could_ stop this guy! I know, I know your family's murder was horrible. Why's it okay for other women and maybe kids to be killed? What kind of heartless bastard are you?" Urgently, "Go on air and reel this sonofabitch in, dammit!"

They froze. Tork, stiff with anger. Jane, pale and white-knuckled gripping a chair back. Fischer and Wylie wide-eyed. The HVAC kicked in, the woosh of air sounding like a tornado. A cell phone trilled in a desk drawer 40 feet away.

Jane blinked and took a shaky breath. Face revealing nothing, voice clipped, "I'll do it. When, where?"

Tork launched into a frenzy of action. He dug around in a folder and triumphantly pulled out a page. "Fischer call this radio show and tell 'em yes for tonight. Six p.m. Wylie, do whatever you need to trace calls from the show. I got a warrant when those chat room guys said they all listen to this 'Night Talk' show." He looked at Jane who was several shades paler than usual, "Jane, tell me what you need – anything – to sucker this guy in." Tork took a step back and faced the group, "It's gonna work like this. Jane's on the show, hopefully gets a call that looks like our perp. Jane keeps him on, drags it out while Wylie traces it. Fischer and I go and grab the bastard with PD back-up."

Fischer, "What about protecting Jane?"

Tork motioned with his hand dismissing any problem, "I drive him to the show. I'll arrange a PD detail for security during the show. –If we get the perp, no more threat. –If not, I'll take Jane home, have a detail guard his door." Tork looked at Jane again. "You willing to stick with it? If it doesn't work tonight, go on other shows?"

Quietly, "I'm all in."

Tork nodded, eyes over-bright. "Good. I respect that."

Fischer, Wylie and Tork tackled setting it up in the 40 minutes they had. Jane got tea in the break room and sat quietly on his couch, calming and centering himself to be able to focus on performing.

Tork left with Jane for the ten minute drive. Fischer loaded her SUV with Kevlar vests, night vision goggles, extra ammunition clips, communications equipment, and an assortment of firearms, then took a seat near Wylie's desk to wait for the show, to hope for the killer to call and be traced.

Wylie finished his preparations just before the show. He tuned on a computer at an adjacent desk to hear the radio show while keeping his free for tracing and tracking.

_**Night Talk **_**Radio Studio, Austin**

Jane nodded to the LEO posted by the door, glad to be out of the oppressive heat. Heat lightening shimmered in the distance, arcing from a solid blanket of low lying of dark clouds. He walked into the radio studio, at once jazzed and on edge about the coming performance. A frisson lanced through him at the thought of nailing this serial killer, edged with black anger and fear recalled from the show with Panzer ... and the one that got his family killed. Jane shoved it aside to focus. He sat down, the host-interviewee set-up familiar from hundreds of interviews during his psychic years.

The host extended his hand. "Dan Glover, glad to have you Patrick. –You're familiar with the set-up I see?"

"Yep."

"All right. I'm going to throw you a few questions to set-up who you are, draw listeners in. Uh, our audience is interested in the occult, psychics, stuff like that. They're also really good at detecting phonies." Jane smiled slightly at the not-so-veiled threat. "'Kay. Just keep the ball in the air." He glanced up at the countdown to air time: Five fingers, four, three...

"_Dan Glover on KPQC welcomes you to _Night Talk_, where we explore all possibilities without being limited to the conventional. Like you, I'm impressed with how little we know of our vast, unexplored universe, physical and metaphysical. –Tonight we have special guest Patrick Jane, the FBI psychic working to nail Austin's serial killer. The killer murdered one of our most talented local psychics, Gabriel Osborne, a few nights ago. Some of you may recall Patrick Jane from his acclaimed TV show, _Beyond the Veil_, before his family was killed by a serial killer in California. There are no coincidences. Whatever dark and evil currents bring him to face another serial killer, Austin is fortunate to have his help at this time. –Patrick, welcome."_

_ "Pleased to be here, Dan."_

"_I'd like to talk about the hunt for a man who's murdered a number of our local citizens, but first I have to ask, what is a psychic? What is it you do? – Patrick? Patrick?"*_

"_Yeah. Uh, Dan, sorry I was distracted. There's something on your mind. Your wife, uh, just had a baby, a girl I believe?"*_

_ "Who told you that?!"*_

_"You did. Uh, her, her name begins with a vowel, a – a – Alexa, right?"*_

_"That's right!. –So, that's how you do it?"*_

_"That's how I do it, yeah."*_

_ "I swear no one told him anything. Back after this commercial message."_

Glover grinned across the table at Jane. "Hell of a good start, Jane. –How did you know?"

Jane just smiled.

"_Back with Patrick Jane, the psychic working with the FBI. Patrick, please tell the audience more about your role with the FBI._"

"_I'm not a detective. I do police work. I'm just trying to help my colleagues understand this man."*_

_"How would you describe him?"*_

_ "Well, obviously he's very angry, in a lot of pain. –I – I think he's trying to get in touch with someone from the other side."*_

"_What makes you say that?"*_

"_He kidnapped and killed a psychic. Why else would he do that?"_

_._

_._

_._

"_We have another call here from – Lazarus? –Lazarus, welcome to the show."*_

_"Lazarus. Interesting name,* _Jane began.

_ "He rose from the dead."*_

_ "So I heard. What's your question, Lazarus?"*_

_ "What else do you know about the man the FBI is hunting?*"_

_"Well, I can't tell you everything I know.*"_

_"Why not?"*_

"_It's an on-going investigation. The case is still open. Why are you interested? Do you have information on the man?"_*

_ "You're the one who knows everything."*_

"I never said that."*

"_No, but you claim to be in contact with the spirits.* If you're not, why would the police want your help?*"_

"_I get the feeling that you know more about this case than you're saying. If that's so, then you should probably share.*"_

_"Why?"*_

_ "So we can catch him."*_

"_What if I don't want him caught?"*_

**FBI, Austin**

Tork, Fischer and Wylie looked at each other.

Fischer, "This could be the guy."

"Yeah, maybe. -Text Jane, make sure he keeps him talking, 'kay? -Wylie, how long to trace the call?"

Preoccupied, "Give me another minute," he said, fingers playing the keyboard like a virtuoso. Then he stopped, simply waiting for the software to lock onto the signal. "Got it!" Wylie hit 'PRINT' and handed the page to Tork. "GPS coordinates and driving directions. –Something interesting-"

Distracted as he donned his vest, "What?"

"He's not calling from a cell phone, he's calling from a land-line normal phone.*"

"So long as we know where he is." They tuned back in on the radio show.

"..._"He was a complete fake. You could practically see it written on him."*_

"That's it!" Tork exclaimed.

"We never made that public," Fischer seconded, predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Let's go!"

Tork and Fischer left at a run. Tork was already calling to give the Austin PD the location.

Wylie puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. Then he dialed while continuing to listen. He put the call on speaker, "Dave–" unsurprised that his IT buddy was there after hours.

"-Hey, Coyote. What 'cha need?"

"Pretty sure Jane lured out the serial killer. We didn't release what was written on Gabriel's body. No one knows that except us and the killer.*"

"I've been listening, got that. Why ya callin' me?"

"Can you cover my desk? I'm scared as hell about Jane being left with just a cop there."

"Sure. Forward it to my computer. I'll babysit till you call me."

"Thanks. Owe you." Wylie forwarded control of his computer remotely over to Hastings. He dialed Lisbon while continuing to listen to the show.

_**Night Talk **_**Radio Studio, Austin**

...

"_Thank you for holding through our commercial break, Lazarus. When we left, you suggested you dealt with another psychic who wasn't on the up and up. You a skeptic now?*"_

"_No. I believe in spirits. Very much. Just not everybody who claims to be in touch with them is."*_

Jane resumed the conversation, _"Any spirits in particular?"_

_ "You tell me. Who wants you?"*_

_"Me? Doubt it – nobody."*_

_"There must be spirits in your life."*_

"_Well, fortunately, they leave me alone. –You still haven't told me whose spirit you're trying to connect with."_

_ "Have to go now. Bye."*_

_ "Hold on. Lazarus? Hello?"*_

Glover smoothly picked it up. "_"It seems the caller is gone. We're going to take a minute for station identification. We'll be right back with _Night Talk_ on KPQC."_

Jane pulled his headset off.

"Wait! Thought you were staying for the full show."

He shook his head. "Done. Thanks," he said and walked out. The cop posted at the door nodded and Jane dropped down on the waiting room couch.

"Hear anything?"

Cop grinned. "They don't tell me nothin'."

Jane's cell rang. "Yeah?" He put it on speaker while he poured tea from the beverage station.

Agitated, Tork practically yelled, "He's not here, he rigged a phone. We don't know where he is. I don't know what he's doing but I don't like it.* You stay there till I come get you, clear?"

Disappointed, voice gray, "Yeah." Jane disconnected the phone and said to the cop, "Heads up. Perp's still out there."

"Just stay inside here, Mr. Jane." He unsnapped his holster and made sure the exit door was locked.

**Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin**

Lisbon swore mentally at the trill of her cell phone. She pulled herself up off the couch and dropped the ice pack on the tray. "Coming, coming," she grumbled, annoyed that she'd left her cell on the counter. She'd expected them to work late, but was beginning to wonder when Jane would call. Normally stoic, dental pain was one thing that really got to her. She opted for general anesthetic after Zelazny told her the irritation and swelling would make things extra painful. Delaying the permanent cap had made it much worse.

"Lisbon," she mumbled, sounding like her mouth was still packed with cotton. "What?!" She put her cell on speaker so she could get her shoes and gun while talking.

"Jane did the radio show tonight."

"Wylie, start at the beginning."

"We've got nothing, no good leads. Tork guilted Jane into going on radio and TV shows as a psychic."

"Sonofabitch!"

"–Jane agreed. He– Anyhow, Jane was on the _Night Talk_ show and we're sure he was talking to the serial killer."

"Get on with it!" she urged tightly.

"Traced the call, Tork and Fischer went to the location with PD back-up. It was a set-up – just a server forwarding the call."

"Where's Jane?!"

"He's at the radio station till Tork picks him up."

**"Alone?!"** she yelled.

"There's a cop posted. Sorry I'm bothering you but I just have a bad fe–"

"Wylie, get here and pick me up. We're going there now!"

Relieved, "Good. I just turned into your complex."

Lisbon ended the call, grabbed her jacket, and ran out the door. She gritted her teeth only to swallow a yelp of pain, then took the five seconds needed to lock the deadbolt. She hated the delay, but it would be terminally stupid to find a serial killer waiting inside later.

She yanked the SUV door open and slid in. "Move!"

Wylie sped off, fat raindrops splatting against the windshield as the threatening rain finally began.


	47. Chapter 47 - A Parting Of The Ways

**Chapter 47: A Parting Of The Ways**

**Austin**

"It's too late, Jane." She faced away, not wanting him to see her face.

.

.

.

*** * * 21 Hours Earlier * * ***

_**Night Talk**_** Radio Studio, Austin**

Jane paced restlessly. _Damn, the killer just toyed with us to get information. How the hell will we catch him now?,_ he wondered, nauseated at the thought continuing his psychic pose for numerous appearances. He impatiently peered through the glass door looking for Tork, eager to get home to check on Teresa. The downpour blurred everything except the dim glow of street lights. Rain and mist seemed to swallow what little light there was on the deserted street.

"Mr. Jane–" the cop's voice broke through his musings. "Stay away from the door. You'd make a perfect target for anyone out there."

"Oh. Thanks." He moved aside, rolling his shoulders to ease the night's tension.

A dark shape loomed up and startled them with a sharp rap on the door. The cop stepped between the door and Jane.

"That's Tork," Jane vouched. The cop unlocked and opened the door.

Tork ducked inside. "Could'a swam here," he grumbled, wiping his face and hair from the rain as he stood dripping. "Let's go," he said curtly, still disappointed about the failed trap.

"I'll walk you to your vehicle," the cop said as Jane frowned at the sheeting rain.

Tork took a careful look around through the door, gun drawn. Then he nodded and the three hurried to the black SUV parked across the street. Tork unlocked the doors with the fob then stood guard while Jane went around to the passenger side. "Hurry up!" He yelled to Jane over the drumbeat of rain. He said to the cop, "Thanks. I've got it now." The cop left in a rush, quickly disappearing in the darkness and rain.

Tork slid into the driver's seat as Jane opened his door and-

** ***CRASH*** **A pick-up, headlights off, rammed the SUV

-Tork's airbag exploded

–the frame slammed into Jane's head.

The door-open alert pinged feebly above the pounding rain. Both men were still.

The driver yanked up the parking brake, leaving the engine running. He nodded, satisfied. The agent was neutralized; the psychic, unconscious and ready to be taken. Ignoring the rain he approached the SUV, he tossed Tork's gun and cell phone away. He went around to Jane, checked for a pulse, threw his cell phone aside and dragged him to the rear of the truck. After lowering the tailgate, he heaved his quarry into the back. Handcuffs and a few lengths of chain secured him to steel loops at the corners. Duck tape over the mouth would keep him quiet. He pulled a flap of a tarp over the motionless figure. He turned the headlight on – the other was smashed despite steel bars welded to the front bumper – and the truck jerked underway. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention. He would transfer his prize to his car and vanish.

**En Route, Austin**

Lisbon squinted, trying to see through the driving rain. She said loudly into her phone, "Hastings, say again! – Tork's there, got it. Thanks," and ended the call.

"We still heading to the radio station?"

"Yeah. Hurry." Relief washed through her as Tork's SUV came into view, "Good-" then fear, "-Wait! Something's off! Pull over." Wylie eased to a stop to avoid skidding.

"Damn." Crumpled metal, wheel up on the curb, Tork's limp figure. "Call an ambulance!" She jumped out and opened Tork's door. _Pulse, breathing okay. Where's Jane?_ She peered inside then ran around to the passenger side. _Nothing!_ "Jane's gone!" she yelled above the rain. She scrambled back in. "Go! Catch up."

Wylie pocketed his cell and floored it, tires slipping on the wet. They closed on an old pick-up truck. It passed under a street light. "It's red!" _The killer?_

Grimly, "We'll lose him if he reaches the interstate."

"Whatdowedo?" Wylie blurted as they gained on it.

"Get alongside. Swerve, make him hit the guard rail!"

"What if–"

"Do it!"

Wylie clenched his jaw, pulled even with the truck.

"Now!"

They slammed the pick-up's left fender.

Tires squealed. The pick-up zigzagged. Crashed!

Wylie pulled ahead and yanked the wheel to the right, blocking the road.

Everything stopped dead.

Lisbon kicked her bashed door open and leaped out. Gun drawn, she ran to the pickup and yanked the door open.

"FBI! Get out, hands up!"

He didn't move. He sat dazed and bleeding from smashing into the steering wheel. No airbag.

"Where's Jane?" No answer. With Wylie's back-up, she cuffed the driver's hands to the steering wheel. "Get the ignition key!"

The dome light revealed no one else.

She ran to the back, released the tailgate and pulled the heavy tarp off the dark lump. "Call an ambulance!"

Wylie had called for one. He called for another plus PD back-up.

Lisbon worked by touch in the rain and dark. _ABC's – Airway, clear. Breathing - okay if I can keep the rain off. Circulation, pulse - steady, no gushing blood._ She uncuffed her unconscious partner. Checking as best she could, she felt blood in his hair and on the tape she peeled from his mouth. She pulled the tarp back over, propping up the edge so it didn't lay on his face. The wail of sirens approached, then flashing lights. _At last!_ EMT's scrambled out when the vehicle stopped.

"Over here!" Lisbon shouted. The EMT's roughly crowded in and she sagged against the side of the truck, adrenaline deserting her.

Fischer pulled up, followed by a squad car and another ambulance. "Wylie, report."

"Got him. EMT's are helping Jane. I don't know about Tork back–"

"–En route to the hospital. Sure this guy's our killer?" She patted down the driver without uncuffing him. She used a handkerchief to pull a knife from his boot.

Wylie waved the second set of EMT's to the driver as he drew an evidence bag from his pocket for Fischer.

"He kidnapped Jane. And–" Wylie handed her four evidence bags, "I found this in the glove box." She held the bags in front of the headlights: Small bottle of clear liquid, bloody pliers, a syringe, and an IV needle with a blood collection bag.

"Hot damn! Got him!"

"Lisbon got him-"

Lisbon tiredly jogged over, "_We_ did, Jason. –Kim, you got this? I want to go with Jane."

Fischer nodded.

Lisbon sprinted to the ambulance and slipped inside before the doors slammed shut.

"Wylie, follow Lisbon, take my SUV." She snapped her fingers, "Take your go-bag – and mine too. She can have my dry clothes. I'll wrap up here." Wylie traded keys with Fischer and left.

**County General Hospital, Austin**

Wylie dropped the two bags next to Lisbon and sat in the adjacent chair. Lisbon glanced at him and nodded.

Hesitantly, "Any word on Jane? Or Tork?"

She shook her head. Flatly, "Jane was unconscious. Didn't look too bad, but you can't tell about head injuries. Just have to wait." She propped her face on her hand and instantly jerked back in pain. Instead she settled back in the uncomfortable chair and leaned her head against the wall.

Wylie scratched his cheek, itchy from humidity plus day-end stubble. "I'm going for coffee, want one?"

"Thanks," she nodded.

He rose, then thought to add, "I brought Kim's go-bag. She said you could use her dry clothes."

"Maybe later."

He returned in 15 minutes with two coffees and two chocolate bars. He set them on the melamine table near her then took his bag and headed for the men's room. The day's events had caught up with him. Dinnertime was long past. Relief and even pride at getting the serial killer had faded into gray uncertainty about two injured team members.

Fischer was talking with Lisbon when he exited the men's room. "...rode with them for security. The PD is stationing two men at his door. Name on his driver's license is Joseph P. Keller, Jr."

Lisbon nodded, face pale, damp hair drying into waves and frizz. "Just so the PD knows he's our serial killer. No screw-ups where he gets away."

"Not a chance. –I hate to ask, but will you be in tomorrow? We have to wrap up the loose ends and we're down two men."

Lisbon nodded. "So long as Jane's okay."

Fischer turned to Wylie. "Wylie, good work." He blushed faintly but looked pleased. She eyed him curiously, "Why'd you call Lisbon?"

He shrugged uneasily and looked down. "Seemed like a good idea when the phone trace led to a server. Was worried about just one man guarding Jane." He looked up, expression earnest and guilty, "I got Dave Hastings to cover for me."

Fischer shook her head, amused. "You saved the day. Good catch."

"Oh." He looked relieved. "Thanks," he said, unable to suppress a smile.

Lisbon rose wearily, "Think I'll take you up on the clothes, Kim. I'm staying till I know about Jane, hopefully talk to him." She frowned. "Tork?"

"I called his wife. No point flying out here if he's-"

"-Family for Tork?" called a nurse with a clipboard who stood outside the treatment area.

"Here," said Fischer. The three rose and met the nurse half way.

"Agent Tork is being released. He needs someone to drive him home because of the medication he's received."

Fischer motioned, "I can do that."

"I need your signature, please." The nurse handed her the clipboard and a pen.

A minute later Tork walked slowly into the waiting room. Purple-blue rings below his eyes contrasted starkly with the white tape immobilizing a broken nose. Bruises from the airbag deployment made every move painful. The agents crowded loosely around.

Fischer spoke first, "Glad you're okay, Rick." Wylie and Lisbon nodded.

"Jane?" he asked nasally.

Quietly, "Being treated. Know more later. Lisbon and Wylie got the killer – a Joseph Keller. He's here, two cops guarding him."

Heavily, "That's great." He looked at the three. "What happened?"

Fischer said, "I'll tell you on the way to your place. –Your wife would really like to hear from you."

"You called Barbara?"

Fischer shrugged, "You were hurt."

Tork looked around again. "Good work." He looked at Lisbon, shame plain on his face. "Call me when you find out about Jane?"

Lisbon nodded stiffly. "Okay."

He nodded to Lisbon and Wylie then headed out with Fischer.

Lisbon sighed as she watched them leave, then turned to Wylie. "Jason, would you mind staying till I change? Just in case there's word."

"Sure. I – I'm staying anyhow. Till we know, I mean." She nodded, took the bag and headed to the woman's room

A steady stream of the sick and injured came through the trauma center doors over the next ninety minutes. Twenty minutes after Fischer and Tork left Wylie had leafed through a half-dozen out-dated magazines and finished his coffee and candy bar. Lisbon had changed into dry clothes, albeit with the pant cuffs rolled up.

Eager for a distraction, Wylie ventured, "You and Jane are going to leave, aren't you?"

Surprised, she looked his way. "What makes you say that?"

He half-shrugged. "Just a feeling. Cho left and I know you three were close. And, well, Jane seemed to deliberately annoy Tork and Pike."

She said obliquely, "Jane's got over three more years to his contract."

Not buying it, Wylie looked sharply at her. "But I bet Jane could get out of it somehow – if he wanted."

"Maybe." She sipped her second coffee. "Any thoughts? I mean, if that was the case?"

He scratched his head, forehead wrinkled in dismay. "I like working with you guys. You're different. I've learned a lot." She raised her eyebrows and nodded, encouraging him to go on. He sighed, "Tork and Pike don't like Jane being so far out of the box. Not something they're comfortable with. It'll probably be worse once Abbott's gone. So, it makes sense for you two." He suddenly cleared his throat, eyes widening, "I didn't mean anything about you – your personal life. It just seems you work together ... well."

She smiled and patted his knee. "It's okay, Wylie. Jane and I have been partners a long time."

His expression changed as he reached a decision. "If you stay in the FBI and, and it makes sense, please consider me. I wouldn't mind– No, I'd _really like _to keep working with you."

Gently, "I don't know if things will work out that way though I appreciate the thought. Stay open to opportunities. Good SA's are always looking for smart, talented agents who work hard." She closed her eyes and leaned back again, trying to get rid of the headache she'd had all evening, trying to quell worry about Jane until she knew more.

Wylie mulled the combined compliment and bad news, finally deciding her advice was reason for optimism. That Lisbon – maybe even Jane – thought well of him was a balm to his disappointment they would leave. She hadn't denied it, which he took as confirmation.

Fifteen minutes later a nurse emerged. "Family for Patrick Jane?" They rose as one and descended upon her.

The nurse looked at the small, black-haired woman and the tall, fair man. Lisbon offered, "I'm his partner," deliberately leaving it ambiguous.

"Accompany me, please."

Both followed. Anticipating the nurse's desire to limit it to just one, Lisbon said, "We're FBI. He's on our team." After a moment's indecision, the nurse nodded and motioned them both to his treatment bay.

Jane lay on a gurney, dressed in a hospital gown and covered by a sheet and blanket. He looked little worse for the wear except for an IV, some bruises, and a white bandage taped to a shaved patch on his head.

"Jane." Lisbon took his hand, squeezing lightly.

He looked around, careful not to move his head suddenly. "Lisbon. Wylie." He squeezed back.

"How are you?"

"Never better," and smirked faintly at the patently false answer. "I'll live ... apparently." Wylie shifted uncomfortably but looked relieved.

"I'm Dr. Chavez," announced a tall, 40-something Hispanic man.

"Agents Lisbon and Wylie."

Chavez glanced at Jane to be sure he approved revealing medical details to the visitors. Jane gave a slight nod. "Mr. Jane has a mild concussion." He looked at the two agents. "Someone reported he was unconscious after a car accident and then suffered a second impact from another collision?"

"That's right," confirmed Lisbon.

"A second impact increases the potential severity of the concussion. I'm admitting him to monitor the concussion and run further tests related to his back pain." At Lisbon's worried look he expanded, "It appears to be sprained muscles. But I want to do further tests in the morning after treatment with muscle relaxants and a chance for the swelling to subside."

The tension drained from her. "So he'll be okay?" she asked hopefully.

Chavez nodded encouragingly. "We'll know more after tomorrow's tests, but there is every reason to be optimistic." He looked around. "If there are no further questions, I'll leave you to talk. Ask a nurse if you think of anything else."

"Hey, Wylie," Jane said, tired from the trauma and muzzy from drugs. "I hear you and Lisbon came to the rescue."

"I was worried after you flushed him out with that radio appearance."

"Thank you."

"Sure – you, you're welcome," he stammered.

Worry seeped into his voice, "You got the killer?"

Lisbon answered soothingly, "He's cuffed to a bed with two cops guarding him."

Jane yawned. "That's a relief." He frowned, "Unless he gets loose."

"Shhh."

"Jane," Wylie said, "glad you'll be all right. –I should be going I guess." Wylie shook Jane's hand and left.

Lisbon pulled over a chair and sank down. "Patrick, how are you really?"

"Mmmm. Head hurts but not bad. Back hurts. I think I tensed up just before ... what did happen anyway?" He moved a leg slightly and winced.

"The perp rammed your SUV with a pick-up. He left Tork and loaded you into the truck. Wylie and I caught him before he got to the interstate. Wylie forced the truck to the side where he crashed."

Jane grinned. "Action figure Wylie. Who knew?"

"Arrested Keller. Tork was beat up from the airbag. You lost a fight with the SUV's doorframe. You're both gonna be okay."

Jane idly stroked her hair with his untethered hand. "You doing all right after the dental work?"

"I'm-

\- fine."

"–fine," they said in unison. He roused himself a little. "Lisbon, go home and rest. I have a whole hospital full of people to tend me ... and provide amusement."

She glowered. "Play nice."

He mumbled, on the verge of drifting off. "Yeah, yeah. For tonight. All bets are off tomorrow though."

She got up and kissed him. He smiled in reaction. "I'll stop by before work. Fischer, Wylie and I have to handle the cleanup since we're short-handed."

He was asleep before she left the room.

**Austin, Friday Morning**

Lisbon woke early after a restless night without Jane beside her. A therapeutic dose of ibuprofen and a night's sleep had done wonders for her jaw. She took a quick shower and left with plenty of time to buy take-out breakfast and stop by the hospital. She took Jane's car since hers was still at the FBI after taking a taxi to the dentist.

Lisbon stopped by Jane's hospital room, but Jane had already been taken away for tests. She left the two books he was currently reading, a book of puzzles, and a half dozen tea bags of his favorite blend. The less boredom Jane suffered, the less trouble he caused – anywhere, anytime. A blueberry muffin held her note promising to come by after work.

Next stop, Abbott.

**FBI, Austin, Before The Work Day**

The building was quiet. The front desk security officer nodded a welcome. Lisbon took the empty elevator to their floor. She glanced through the windowed wall and saw that Abbott was in and was alone.

Lisbon stepped into Abbott's office and closed the door. He was loading files into a moving box. Arms straight, she braced her hands on the back of a chair facing his desk.

"We need to talk."

He glanced up. "Check with Lira when she gets in. Full slate this morning."

Calm. Determined. "Now."

Abbott stopped gathering files and tilted his head, eyes narrowed. "About?"

"Jane's contract."

Abbott set aside the box. He leaned back, arms relaxed on the armrests. "Sit." Lisbon unbent enough to take the facing chair. "Jane okay?"

"Still running tests. Probably." She paused a moment, then plunged into it. "Jane can't work for Pike and Tork. You need to change his contract before you leave for DC. You have the clout to do it thanks to Blake."

Abbott rumbled quietly, dangerously, "I wouldn't be blackmailed by Peterson. I won't by Jane either. Jane committed first degree murder and there are consequences."

"Like the consequences for killing Caudillo?"

A muscle jumped in Abbott's jaw. "I didn't kill for revenge. And Jane isn't law enforcement."

She cocked her head, eyebrows raised. "Does that make it better? Or worse? Hypocrisy doesn't suit you, Abbott."

In a controlled voice, "Working for the FBI to avoid a murder charge is a _very_ reasonable tradeoff.

Anger flashed in her eyes, then was gone. "A death sentence is reasonable?"

His forehead creased. "What?"

"We finished Blake three months ago. Markham murdered five DEA agents and nearly killed Jane because Pike wouldn't listen. MacKaye would have killed Jane and me in the art theft case except for you and Cho. _You and Cho. Not Pike. Not Tork_. And yesterday's half-assed trap almost made Jane victim number ten. Tork baited Jane to do the show, threw together a shoddy op, and had too little back-up with no oversight." She leaned forward. Intensely,_ "Jane will never fit into the FBI._ Pike and Tork don't have the imagination or smarts to make the most of his talents while protecting him. They're gonna get him killed."

Abbott closed his eyes, took a breath. "Jane worked in essentially the same job for a decade. You made it work at the CBI, you can make it work now."

"I don't call the shots here! I've tried to protect him. _This last case proves I can't_."

He looked hard at Lisbon. "I swore to serve my country through the FBI. I can not and will not give Jane a pass when the FBI needs his talents."

"How will getting him killed help the FBI?" Now Lisbon leaned back, smiling a little. "What I propose _benefits_ the FBI. Win-win."

"I'm listening."

"Jane will work for the FBI under your supervision. He'll work any case you want, up to four per year for the four remaining years of his contract. He gets paid for his time plus expenses. Oh – and no travel restrictions inside or outside the US."

Abbott's lips quirked in appreciation and amusement. "Well. Nothing if not ambitious, Lisbon." He leaned forward, warming to the negotiation. "Jane would work far more cases under his current contract–"

"–in Austin," Lisbon interjected with a snort.

He ignored the interruption. "-Twelve cases per year, five years. _And_ you work with him. I'll be damned if I'm going to ride herd on a slippery con man. –And Schultz has to agree."

She frankly grinned. "Six cases a year, five years. Schultz will gladly ditch him after being embarrassed in Sacramento."

Abbott's eyebrows came together in sudden realization. Wonderingly, "He engineered this. –Pike and Tork were never fans but Jane deliberately pissed them off, didn't he?"

Her smile belied her diplomatic reply, "Not a good fit."

"I need to confirm this with Jane."

She raised her chin, outraged anew at yesterday. "He's at County General."

Abbott exhaled. Carefully, "Assuming he confirms the deal, I'll have a letter outlining the terms by day's end–"

"–Signed by you and Schultz?"

He nodded. "The legalese will take a few more days."

Lisbon rose. Sincere, "Thank you. You're not as big an SOB as I thought three years ago." She tossed a plastic zip bag on his desk. It contained a spent bullet and a rifling photo. "From Jane. It was never blackmail." Eyes glittering like hard gems, she turned and left.

Abbott sat idly gazing at where she'd just been. His eyes gleamed as he thought about personally controlling these two very useful assets for the FBI. Abbott resumed packing. He was surprised to realize he _wanted_ to continue working with the prickly agent and the unique con man.

Murder turned out to be a family tradition. Joseph P. Keller, Jr. was the son of Joseph P. Keller, Sr., a serial killer from New Mexico who had died shortly after being released from prison a year ago. Keller's basement was a little shop of horrors. Lisbon, Fischer and Wylie all went, professionally and personally curious about the back story of a serial killer connected to the occult. Keller's basement contained a jar of formaldehyde-preserved fingernail trophies from his murders, a half dozen discarded blood donation bags ... and the mummified corpse of Keller, Sr. The body had shriveled into a leather-covered skeleton from the dry, desert heat of New Mexico. A well-thumbed printout of instructions for "binding a spirit" lay on a table. The spell required every inch of the dead person to be bathed in fresh human blood within a year of death. The corpse had blood stains covering three-quarters of the body where Keller used a sponge to dab it with blood. They turned the site over to forensics, but there wasn't a shred of doubt they had arrested the Austin serial killer Thursday night. Marcus Pike handled the press and TV interviews at Abbott's request since Pike had been the acting SAC for the case.

The day was over before Lisbon knew it. When she returned, Abbott stopped her in the hall with news that the agreement she outlined was approved. He handed her a faxed copy signed by him and Marion Schultz. It took Lisbon a few minutes to key the letter she needed before seeing Pike.

**Pike's Office, FBI, Austin**

Lisbon stepped off the elevator on the art squad's floor. She paused outside Pike's office to figure out how to broach her resignation. Pike had ... meant well. She gathered herself and stepped through the door.

"I need a moment."

Pike laid his pen down and looked up, happy to see her. "Lisbon. We got great press on catching Keller. Austin's mayor is grateful and we even got a call from the governor's office. Good work."

Nonplussed, "Wylie was key, too. He–"

"–What can I do for you?" he cut her off.

She inhaled and changed gears. "Jane will be leaving Austin – with Abbott's blessings." Pike's grin bloomed into a wide smile. He'd gotten the good news when Abbott asked if he objected to losing Jane. Then she added, "I'm resigning."

His face fell and he half-rose. "Have a seat. _Please_," he gestured. "Lisbon – Teresa, you don't have to do that."

"I'm afraid I do," she said simply, not wanting to get into it. She leaned forward and handed him her letter of resignation.

Pike skimmed the letter. He looked up, openly dismayed. "Why, Teresa?"

"I no longer need to be here," she said, rising and edging toward the door. She had half turned away when Pike spoke again.

"Don't throw away your career for an irresponsible con man!" Pike kept talking to keep her there. Urgently, "You have a bright future here. Stability, career progress, chance at a personal life with _decent_ agents." Her face was expressionless. He scrambled for a convincing argument. "Yesterday's op was a mess." He looked at her with open admiration and more. "Stay and you can have the unit. Tork fumbled it and he's out."

Lisbon exhaled sharply and tilted her head. She turned back to face him. Her words were quiet, measured. "Pike, you're a decent man. I'll take on faith you're a good agent. But Tork isn't the only one who screwed up." Pike was puzzled, clueless.

She took a step toward him. "You're the new SAC. What do you do when a killer murders five people _in one week_, terrorizes the city, and makes national news? You dump it in Tork's lap, shame him in front of his team. You're too busy making rounds, getting up to speed on cases that could wait, to help." Pike looked shocked. "You've ignored, discounted, and endangered Jane at every turn. A – a genius at investigation works for you and you can't wait to get rid of him. You're too–" she took a breath and edited the word, "rigid to make use of him. That promotion to SAC? Thank Jane. You worked that case _two years_ and he solved it in a week." With thick sarcasm, "You offer me unit leader like it's a favor, pat me on the head saying I'm a 'good agent.' Wow, I'm flattered. -I led a team for 12 years, had a 100% close rate, solved McTeer, got Red John, exposed and helped close Blake. After partnering with one of the finest detectives I've ever seen, I should stay and work for you? Jane and I have been to hell and back together. There's no one I'd rather work with. -Or spend my life with." She stared at him a moment, pivoted and left.

She was shaking with anger when she walked out that door. By the time she reached the elevator she was smiling and felt light enough to fly. All doubts were gone. Not only could she live without the FBI, she'd thrive. There was a whole world to explore with a fascinating, infuriating, beguiling, and brilliant man who somehow loved her just as much.

She answered her cell phone in the elevator. "Just leaving. Pick you up in 20 minutes."

**County General, Austin**

Jane was sitting up in bed, fidgeting from boredom when she arrived. He looked up, "At last!" and gingerly swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Hey!" She plopped a bag on the bed, "Here're your clothes. -You're gonna go broke replacing suits if you stay in law enforcement."

He grabbed the bag and said smugly, "Talked them into letting me out now instead of tomorrow morning."

Dryly, "At least you're not leaving against medical advice this time." She frowned and looked at him. "_Right?_"

Humoring her, "Yes, dear."

Lisbon waited patiently, looking comfortably to the side while he dressed, neither staring nor primly turning away. The slightest wrong move triggered searing pain in his sprained back. He dropped his boxers on the floor, shuffled each foot into a leg hole, and carefully bent both knees to pull them up. Repeat for pants. Only when he was buttoning his shirt did he resume their conversation.

Forehead creased in puzzlement, "Abbott called to confirm the new arrangement. –How did that happen?"

"I convinced him," she said simply. "He agreed to your demands and you'll be free."

Jane's proud smile for her faded. _You'll__ be free_ echoed in his mind. He bit his bottom lip, "Teresa, I've been thinking." He took a breath and said in a rush, "I can stay with the FBI three more years. Longer if you want." He anxiously read her face.

Her breath caught and mood changed in an instant. "It's too late, Jane," she said, upset. She turned away, not wanting him to see her face.

Jane felt sucker punched. He grabbed the table and sank onto the bed. "Wha–what?"

She turned at his pained voice, was shocked to see fear and sorrow. She blinked, then understood. "Oh, God, Jane. That's not– It's too late _because I quit._ I resigned!" She sat and hugged him tightly. "I didn't think how it would sound."

Hesitantly, "You're coming with me, not staying?"

"Yes, I'm coming. Don't even _think_ I'd let you go," she said fiercely.

He drew a shaky breath, exhaled and squared his shoulders, using every trick he knew to calm himself, regain his composure. Weak with relief, "Good. ... Good."

Gently, "Finish dressing. I'm famished and there's a steak with my name on it at Iron Works." The restaurant had become a favorite despite unsettling reverberations from their past. "We have to talk about what happens next."

Still stuck on his terrifying scare, "Why did you react that way? You turned away and I thought..." he said, perplexed.

Her eyebrows drew together over a stony expression. "I let you down, Jane. I should never have pushed to stay with the FBI."

He shook his head, confused. "You didn't do anything..."

She rubbed her face with both hands. "C'mon. Let me help you with your shoes and socks. We'll talk while we eat."

**Iron Works BBQ, Austin**

Lisbon and Jane leaned back against the padded booth after an excellent meal. Mellow after wine and food, Jane asked, "We going to talk or have dessert?"

"Both."

"What changed your mind about the FBI?"

"You." He frowned. "Whatever we do has to work for both of us."

He shrugged. "We could have waited out my contract."

Decisively. "No. We couldn't. In three months you were almost killed three times."

Jane shifted uncomfortably, looking guilty. "About that. I, ah, know I promised to tell you before taking risks. But you went to the dentist and Tork, well, Tork made a good argument. About the radio show."

She glowered at him. "Tork made you feel guilty then put a target on your back. And that proves my point."

"Which is?"

She leaned forward and put her hand on his. "You're not a cop, will never think like a cop. Tork and Pike don't understand that and, frankly, don't give a damn about you. They'd get you killed. I was so caught up in what I'm comfortable with I didn't think. I let you down."

He shook his head. "Never. What about you, your career? You need to be a cop."

"I _am_ a cop, whether I work for the FBI, CIB, or someplace else."

Quietly, "Career?"

Thoughtfully, "I could work for another organization. ... But I'd like to step outside the bureaucracy, try something different. I'm tired of the politics, of working for hacks." Her laugh was bitter. "Hell, I spent years working for a criminal without even knowing. Career ladders are great if that's where you want to go. My career is whatever I decide is worth my time, screw the bureaucracy."

"S-o-o, a detective agency? Ours, someone else's?"

"This is what I've been thinking. It felt like free fall because there's no plan." She glared at him. "Unlike _some_ people, I'm not good with hippy-dippy 'go with the flow.' But a plan doesn't have to mean a job. I want our own agency. In California. I have contacts from SFPD, SacPD, and the CBI. We have a good reputation among cops so we'd get referrals. It doesn't have to be homicides. We could take on other types of cases – missing persons for instance." He nodded without interrupting. She was on a roll. "And I'm sick of living in a glorified motel. I want something permanent, a home." She swallowed, suddenly aware Jane wasn't saying anything. She looked at him uncertainly, "Jane?"

His smile broke over his face and widened to full radiant beauty. "_This_ is the Lisbon I know. And love."

Lisbon ducked her head. "This okay? What are you thinking?"

"We already agreed on California. I'd like Sacramento or environs," a shadow passed over his face, a cloud over the sun, "I prefer not to be in LA." He cleared his throat. "Grace and Rigs show it can be done. I daresay they had less to work with than you, reputation-wise. I _do_ want time for vacations, a personal life." He looked a little unsure about that.

Lisbon said carefully, "I don't mind hard work. But, yeah, I would like to take a vacation occasionally, see the world. It won't happen unless we make time."

Relieved, he continued. "You know money will never be a problem, right?"

She frowned. "That's your money, Jane."

He said delicately, "It will be _our_ money soon as I convince you to take the next logical step. –Or not! I'll put whatever amount you want into your account if that's what it takes."

She pushed her plate aside. "I don't want your money, Jane." She looked resolute, confident. "I _do_ have savings, probably less than you but I'm not destitute. If need be I could get a job more than sufficient to support myself. And, and a baby if that happens." She stopped abruptly, having lurched into a huge unknown.

Jane reached across the table and took both her hands. Quietly, "I'd like a family again. Kids. We'll keep trying. I'm sure there are also children who need a home that we could provide."

She slid a hand free to take a sip of water. It was that or become embarrassingly emotional. Jane's smile shone brighter if possible as he moved to her side of the booth and hugged her tightly. "Finally, Teresa. Finally."

**FBI, Austin, Following Week**

Lisbon and Jane finished packing over the weekend. It went astonishingly quickly, underscoring just how little personal life they'd had in Austin. The FBI's legal department had Jane's new contract ready by Wednesday. Lisbon was surprised that she would continue as an FBI agent, 'active status on hiatus.' Abbott explained that it would dramatically simplify the administrivia of working cases for the next five years. He casually mentioned that she could rejoin the FBI as an agent at any time.

During the week, Lisbon and Jane – Lisbon mainly – finished reports on recent cases and filled out paperwork for HR. There was a going away party for Abbott on Thursday, for which they were grateful. They thought their imminent departure would be camouflaged by the hoopla for Abbott.

**FBI, Austin, Friday**

Their last day, Friday, finally arrived. Lisbon came in early to empty out her desk before the other agents were in. She decided she owed Tork the courtesy of stopping by in person.

The small man was in his office. The white adhesive on his nose was fraying around the edges. The purple and blue bruises had faded to a sickening greenish yellow that, nonetheless, meant they were healing.

"Tork?"

"Lisbon." He waved her in. "What do you need?"

"I wanted to say good-bye. I would have given you my resignation last week but you were out after Keller's take-down. That's why I gave it to Pike."

"I, uh, am really sorry I screwed up that operation. I lucked out it wasn't worse."

She stood silent a moment, then said dispassionately, "You did. Tork, I headed a team for 12 years. No matter how eager you are to get the perp, team safety has to come first. People aren't stupid. You won't get their loyalty or even their best effort unless they know you have their backs."

He swallowed. "I know that."

She frowned, considering his reply. "Are you sure? Think things through, think several steps ahead. It wasn't just the op. What if Keller had gotten away? What then?"

He said hesitantly, "Well, um, I was gonna assign a protective detail till he was caught."

Her eyebrow twitched. "For how long? You pushed Jane's buttons – congratulations," she said with an edge. "And you put him in the cross-hairs of another serial killer. If Jane couldn't leave Austin and you didn't catch Keller, he'd have that target on his back forever."

Tork was uncomfortable, but appeared to be listening. She bothered to offer two more pieces of advice. "Find the best people you can to work for and with. And remember you've gotta be able to look yourself in the mirror." She bit her lip. "I couldn't do that if someone on my team was killed when it could've been avoided. Good luck, Tork." She turned and left. Tork leaned his forehead onto his hand. He began to think losing the unit leader job under Pike ... might have a silver lining. There would be other opportunities in Phoenix, other people to work for.

Jane saw Lisbon exit Tork's office. He handed her the latte he'd picked up on the way in. They had driven separately because she had to relinquish the FBI SUV.

His eyebrows rose, curiosity eating him. She lightly whapped his chest. "You're nosier than my grandmother was."

"So tell me already."

"I just had some advice for Tork."

His eyes glinted with humor. "And you left him a quivering mess?"

She threw him a dirty look. "No. Now come on. I got an e-mail saying we need to clear up some details for Legal on the Keller case before we leave." He followed her to Legal's floor where they found Fischer, Wylie, Abbott and most of the Austin agents waiting with a cake and soda. She blushed furiously but was gratified when even Jane assumed a rosy hue. Despite the rocky start, they'd been accepted and even embraced in the hidebound, by-the-book organization. Abbott gave a mercifully short speech and Jane was amused to read his compliments were sincere. They escaped just before the end of the business day.

Lisbon and Jane exited the elevator in the lobby and waved to the security officer as they walked past. Jane stopped and backtracked to hand over their FBI Austin photo ID name tags.

They stepped out into an afternoon glowing brilliant gold as the day waned. Jane paused at the top of the stairs, spread his arms and faced the sun, eyes closed. His incandescent smile rivaled the sun. "Free at last!"

"Now what?" Lisbon asked, ever practical.

"Oh, I was thinking dinner ... and maybe a road trip to California. Then we can buy a house, travel to Europe, launch a business, conceive a child or two."

She nudged him but couldn't squelch a grin. "Talked me into it!"

**FINI**

* * *

**A/N: There may well be a multi-chapter epilogue to this story as there are several loose ends. Thank you everyone for sticking with this l-o-n-g AU story.**


	48. Chapter 48 - Notice of Sequel

**Chapter 48: Sequel**

For anyone who may be interested, the first chapter of the sequel to this story is now posted.


End file.
